Poem by Henry Lawson

The Old Jimmy Woodser

The old Jimmy Woodser comes into the bar 
Unwelcomed, unnoticed, unknown, 
Too old and too odd to be drunk with, by far; 
So he glides to the end where the lunch baskets are 
And they say that he tipples alone. 

His frockcoat is green and the nap is no more, 
And his hat is not quite at its best; 
He wears the peaked collar our grandfathers wore, 
The black-ribbon tie that was legal of yore, 
And the coat buttoned over his breast. 


When first he came in, for a moment I thought 
That my vision or wits were astray; 
For a picture and page out of Dickens he brought--- 
‘Twas an old file dropped in from the Chancery Court 
To the wine-vault just over the way. 

But I dreamed, as he tasted his “bitter” to-night 
And the lights in the bar-room grew dim, 
That the shades of the friends of that other day’s light, 
And of girls that were bright in our grandfathers” sight, 
Lifted shadowy glasses to him. 


Then I opened the door, and the old man passed out, 
With his short, shuffling step and bowed head; 
And I sighed; for I felt, as I turned me about, 
An odd sense of respect---born of whisky no doubt--- 
For the life that was fifty years dead. 


And I thought---there are times when our memory trends 
Through the future, as ‘twere on its own--- 
That I, out-of-date ere my pilgrimage ends, 
In a new-fashioned bar to dead loves and dead friends 
Might drink, like the old man, alone.

1. Wide Lies Australia
2. Since Then
3. The Song of Old Joe Swallow
4. When the `Army’ Prays for Watty
5. At the Beating of a Drum

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