Poems (Rossetti, 1901)/Buds and Babies
BUDS AND BABIES.
A MILLION buds are born that never blow, That sweet with promise lift a pretty head To blush and wither on a barren bed And leave no fruit to show.
Sweet, unfulfilled. Yet have I understood One joy, by their fragility made plain: Nothing was ever beautiful in vain, Or all in vain was good.