| William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. (1878–1962). Anthology of Massachusetts Poets. 1922. |
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| Miss Doane |
| | | Winifred Virginia Jackson |
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| MISS DOANE was sixty, probably; | |
| She rented third floor room | |
| That opened on an airshaft full | |
| Of cooking smells and gloom. | |
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| She worked in philanthropic man’s | 5 |
| Well-known department store; | |
| Cashiered in basement, hot and close, | |
| For forty years or more. | |
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| Each night when she came home she’d stand | |
| A moment in the hall, | 10 |
| Before she went into her room | |
| With low and tender call. | |
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| And often I would hear her voice | |
| Repeat a childish prayer; | |
| Or read some old, old fairy tale | 15 |
| Of Princess, grand and fair. | |
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| One night I went to visit her | |
| And spied, in little chair | |
| A great wax doll, in dainty dress, | |
| And curls of flaxen hair. | 20 |
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| I praised the doll; its prettiness; | |
| Miss Doane said, “I’m alone. | |
| She comforts me. I wanted so | |
| A child to call my own.” | |
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| Each night I heard her softly sing | 25 |
| A childish lullaby; | |
| But once, and just before she died, | |
| I heard her cry and cry! | |
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