I WISH I’d never gone to board In that house where I met The touring lady from abroad, Who mocks my nightmares yet. I wish—I wish that she had saved Her news of what she’d seen— That Dan O’Connor is clean shaved And parts his hair between. The ladies down at Manly now— And widows understood— No more deplore their marriage vow Or hopeless widowhood. For Dan O’Connor is the same As though he’d never been, Since Daniel shaved that shave of shame, And combed his hair between. No more, Oh Bards, in Danyel tones He’ll voice our several fames, And nevermore he’ll mix our bones As once he mixed our names. Let Southern minstrels dree their weird And lay their sad harps down, For Dan O’Connor’s shorn of beard And cracked across the crown. The lobby and refreshment room Are shorn of half their larks, A newer ghost now haunts the gloom
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