R. A. Thorold

“ It was a sight
To bid men gape in wonderment, and praise
My patient courage that endured despite
The gibes of friends and Delia's pitying ways.
Ah, cruel fate that forced my hand to snip
Such cosily growth as graced my upper lip!
Moustache most cherished! Not as other men
That let their lush growth riot as it will,
With just a formal waxing now and then,
Did I maintain it. Nay, with loving skill
And all the precious oils within the ken
Of cunning alchemists I strove until
Its soaring points aspired to pierce the skies,
And I was martial in my Delia's eyes. ”