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...YOUTH'S PROGENY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPECIAL PLEADING by SIDNEY LANIER AT NIGHT; SONNET by AMY LOWELL TO TWO UNKNOWN LADIES by AMY LOWELL A MAN CHILD IS BORN (1839) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS FACADE: 24. AN OLD WOMAN LAMENTS IN SPRINGTIME by EDITH SITWELL |