When Hiram Shaved His Whiskers.
I’ve lived with Hiram thirty years
Upon this varied earth,
And walked with him the vales of tears,
And climbed the hills of mirth;
Some storms have broken on our calm,
And gusts blown wild and drear.
But I have clung to Hiram’s arm
And never felt a fear;
And never gave a frown or scoff,
Till Hiram shaved his whiskers off —
Till Hiram shaved his whiskers.
Those gorgeous whiskers were my pride —
What wondrous power to please!
As they did wave from side to side,
And floated on the breeze;
“You have not loved me since the day
Old Whiskers left,” said Hi —
“For when Old Whiskers moved away
My husband left,” said I.
“My good, old husband disappeared
That day that Hiram shaved his beard —
When Hiram shaved his whiskers.”
“You loved Old Whiskers, Mary Ann,
Far more than you loved me.”
“Old Whiskers was a handsome man
As you will often see.
He had a shaggy, manly air,
But you are small and thin,
Your mouth is large, your cheeks are spare
You have a peak-ed chin —
And I will always rue the day
That good Old Whiskers moved away —
When Hiram shabed his whiskers.”
“You fell so bad, my Mary Ann,
And mourn Old Whiskers so,
I’ll bring you back that grizzly man,
I’ll let my whiskers grow!”
“Ah, those words sound like Hiram’s words,”
Said I, “no more I’ll mourn,
I’ll sing as gay as singing birds,
Till Whiskers shall return;
Meantime I’ll bear with sluggard fate,
In joyful patience sit and wait,
Till Hiram grows his whiskers.”
— S.W. Foss.
The News (Frederick, Maryland) Aug 18, 1891