Christina 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,         A 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 color," put in a Lory,         "Cannot look outré." "All the colors 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 colors 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!"