Two mustache in the face,

And sorry I could not wear both

And be one sexy, long I stood

And looked down as far I could

To where it bent at lip;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it bushy and want wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally long

In piles no hair had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how shave leads on to shave,

I doubted if it should ever grow back.

I telling this con suspiro

Somewhere days and days hence:

Two mustache diverged by choice, and I—

I took the one less bushy,

And dis made all the difference.

Ferret, ferret, scuttling bright

In the cages of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy darling symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies 

Reveal the sweetness of thine eyes?

On what whiskers dare he aspire?

What the paw dare seize desire?

And what shoulder and what art

Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 

And when thy heart began to beat,

What adorable hand and what adorable feet?

Ferret, ferret, scuttling bright

In the cages of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy darling symmetry?