William Gordon McCabe

  • Dreaming in the Trenches

    I picture her there in the quaint old room,
      Where the fading fire-light starts and falls,
    Alone in the twilight’s tender gloom
      With the shadows that dance on the dim-lit walls.

    Alone, while those faces look silently down
      From their antique frames...

  • Christmas Night of '62

    The wintry blast goes wailing by,
      The snow is falling overhead;
      I hear the lonely sentry’s tread,
    And distant watch-fires light the sky.

    Dim forms go flitting through the gloom;
      The soldiers cluster round the blaze
      To talk of other...