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They tell me my hat is old! I scarce believe it so; But since I'm uncivilly told The dear old thing must go, I bid thee farewell, old hat, Good hat! Farewell to thee, good old hat! I must soon to the city his, And trudge to some horrid store, A smart new tile to buy, With a heart exceedingly sore, For I cast off a long-tried friend, A close friend,— I'm ashamed of a trusty old friend. Ah, let me remember with tears The day thou wast first my own, When I settled thee over my ears, Then with soap-locks overgrown. "Hurra for a beaver hat, A sleek hat! A cheer for a sleek beaver hat!" That day is in memory green Among those that were all of that hue; Sweet days of my youth! Ah! I've seen But too many since that were blue. How smooth was our front, my hat, My first hat! Unbent were our brows, my first hat! The first dent,—what a sorrow it was! Were it only my skull instead! Indignant I think on the cause, And pommel my stupid head. I was new to the care of a hat, A tall hat,— Unworthy to wear a tall hat. The omnibus portal, low-browed, Had ne'er grazed my humble cap, But it knocked off my beaver so proud, Which into a puddle fell slap. Alas for my dignified hat, My proud hat! Woe to my lofty-crowned hat! It survived, but it had a weak side, And so had its wearer, perchance, Since I left it on stairs to abide, At a house where I went to a dance. A lady ran into my hat, My poor hat! She demolished my invalid hat! |
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