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...STEEL MILL by LOUIS UNTERMEYER TARQUIN AND THE AUGUR by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN CANTIC. CHAP. 2 by JOSEPH BEAUMONT THE AUTHOR'S LAST WORDS TO HIS STUDENTS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE MARCH BEE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: THE COURT OF PENANCE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |