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Alfred Noyes - Fashions
Work rating: Low

Fashion on fashion on fashion,
  (With only the truth growing old!)
And here`s the new purple of passion,
  (And love waiting out in the cold)
      Who`ll buy?

They are crying new lamps for Aladdin,
  New worlds for the old and the true;
And no one remembers the story
  _The magic was not in the new._

They are crying a new rose for Eden,
  A rose of green glass. I suppose
The only thing wrong with their rose is
  The fact that it isn`t a rose.
      Who`ll buy?

And here is a song without metre;
  And, here again, nothing is wrong;
(For nothing on earth could be neater)
  Except that--it isn`t a song.

Well. Walk on your hands. It`s the latest!
  And feet are Victorian now;
And even our best and our greatest
  Before that dread epithet bow.
      Who`ll buy?

The furniture goes for a song, now.
  The sixties had horrible taste.
But the trouble is this--they`ve included
  Some better things, too, in their haste.

Were they wrapped in the antimacassars,
  Or sunk in a sofa of plush?
Did an Angelican bishop forget them,
  And leave them behind in the crush?
      Who`ll buy?

Here`s a turnex. It`s going quite cheaply.
  (It lived with stuffed birds in the hall!
And, of course, to a mind that thinks deeply
  That settles it, once and for all.)

Here`s _item_, a ring (very plain, sirs!),
  And _item_, a God (but He`s dead!);
They say we shall need Him again, sirs,
  So--_item_, a cross for His head.
      Who`ll buy?

Yes, you`ll need it again, though He`s dead, sirs.
  It is only the fashions that fly.
So here are the thorns for His head, sirs.
  They`ll keep till you need `em. Who`ll buy?
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