“Jimmy Doane,” Rowland Thirlmere

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Jimmy Doane

Often I think of you, Jimmy Doane,—

You who, light-heartedly, came to my house

Three autumns, to shoot and to eat a grouse!

As I sat apart in this quiet room,

My mind was full of the horror of war

And not with the hope of a visitor.

I had dined on food that had lost its taste;

My soul was cold and I wished you were here,

When, all in a moment, I knew you were near.

Placing that chair where you used to sit,

I looked at my book:—Three years to-day

Since you laughed in that seat and I heard...