FREAKS OF FASHION BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

FREAKS OF FASHION  BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI 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 auriferous; "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!"