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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PRAYERS by HENRY CHARLES BEECHING LOVE AND TIME by WALTER RALEIGH GATHERING SONG OF DONALD [OR, DONUI DHU] THE BLACK by WALTER SCOTT A PRAIRIE SUNSET by WALT WHITMAN EPITAPHS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PILLBOX by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF HANNAH MORE'S WORKS by ROBERT BURNS |