The Peacock
The Peacock
Poem
Come, come, Mister Peacock, you must not be proud,
Although you can boast such a train;
For many a bird far more highly endowed
Is not half so conceited and vain.
Let me tell you, gay bird, that a suit of fine clothes
Is a sorry distinction at most,
And seldom much valued, excepting by those
Who such graces can only boast,
The nightingale certainly wears a plain coat;
But she cheers and delights with her song,
While you, though so vain, cannot utter a note
To please by the use of your tongue.
The hawk cannot boast of a plumage so gay,
But piercing and clear is her eye;
And while you are strutting about all the day,
She gallantly soars in the sky.
The dove may be clad in a plainer attire,
But she's not so selfish and cold;
And her love and affection more pleasure inspire
Than all your fine purple and gold.
So you see, Mister Peacock, you must not be proud,
Although you can boast such a train;
For many a bird is more highly endowed,
And not half so conceited and vain.
Thanks and Acknowledgements
This poem can be found in "The Child's Companion" (1844) with the author given as S.W.P.
Image: Albertus Verhoesen: Peacocks and Chickens, 1882.
