Poems (Rossetti, 1901)/Buds and Babies

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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.

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