Poems (Rossetti, 1901)/Freaks of Fashion

by Christina Georgina Rossetti

FREAKS OF FASHION.

SUCH a hubbub in the nests,
 Such a bustle and squeak!
Nestlings, guiltless of a feather,
 Learning just to speak,
Ask—"And how about the fashions?"
 From a cavernous beak.

Perched on bushes, perched on hedges,
 Perched on firm hahas,
Perched on anything that holds them,
 Gay papas and grave mammas
Teach the knowledge-thirsty nestlings:
 Hear the gay papas.

Robin says: "A scarlet waistcoat
 Will be all the wear,
Snug, and also cheerful-looking
 For the frostiest air,
Comfortable for the chest too
 When one comes to plume and pair."

"Neat gray hoods will be in vogue,"
 Quoth a Jackdaw:"Glossy gray,
Setting close, yet setting easy,
 Nothing fly-away;
Suited to our misty mornings,
 À la negligée."

Flushing salmon, flushing sulphur,
 Haughty Cockatoos
Answer—"Hoods may do for mornings,
 But for evenings choose
High head-dresses, curved like crescents
 Such as well-bred persons use."

"Top-knots, yes; yet more essential
 Still, a train or tail,"
Screamed the Peacock: "Gemmed and lustrous,
 Not too stiff, and not too frail;
Those are best which rearrange as
 Fans, and spread or trail."

Spoke the Swan, entrenched behind
 An inimitable neck:
"After all, there's nothing sweeter
 For the lawn or lake
Than simple white, if fine and flaky
 And absolutely free from speck."

"Yellow," hinted a Canary,
 "Warmer, not less distingué?
"Peach colour," put in a Lory,
 "Cannot look outré."
"All the colours are in fashion,
 And are right," the Parrots say

"Very well. But do contrast
 Tints harmonious,"
Piped a Blackbird, justly proud
 Of bill aurigerous;
"Half the world may learn a lesson
 As to that from us."

Then a Stork took up the word:
 "Aim at height and chic:
Not high heels, they're common; somehow,
 Stilted legs, not thick,
Nor yet thin:" he just glanced downward
 And snapped to his beak.

Here a rustling and a whirring,
 As of fans outspread,
Hinted that mammas felt anxious
 Lest the next thing said
Might prove less than quite judicious,
 Or even underbred.

So a mother Auk resumed
 The broken thread of speech:
"Let colours sort themselves, my dears,
 Yellow, or red, or peach;
The main points, as it seems to me.
 We mothers have to teach,

"Are form and texture, elegance,
 An air reserved, sublime;
The mode of wearing what we wear
 With due regard to month and clime.
But now, let's all compose ourselves,
 It's almost breakfast-time."

A hubbub, a squeak, a bustle!
 Who cares to chatter or sing
With delightful breakfast coming?
 Yet they whisper under the wing:
"So we may wear whatever we like,
 Anything, everything!"