By Christina Rossetti

Every valley drinks,
⁠Every dell and hollow:
Where the kind rain sinks and sinks,
⁠Green of Spring will follow.

Yet a lapse of weeks
⁠Buds will burst their edges,
Strip their wool-coats, glue-coats, streaks,
⁠In the woods and hedges;

Weave a bower of love
⁠For birds to meet each other,
Weave a canopy above
⁠Nest and egg and mother.

But for fattening rain
⁠We should have no flowers,
Never a bud or leaf again
⁠But for soaking showers;

Never a mated bird
⁠In the rocking tree-tops,
Never indeed a flook or herd
⁠To graze upon the lea-crops.

Lambs so woolly white,
⁠Sheep the sun-bright leas on,
They could have no grass to bite
⁠But for rain in season.

We should find no moss
⁠In the shadiest places,
Find no waving meadow grass
⁠Pied with broad-eyed daisies:

But miles of barren sand,
⁠With never a son or daughter,
Not a lily on the land,
⁠Or lily on the water.

This poem was originally published in 1862 in Rossetti’s book, Goblin Market and Other Poems. It is now in the public domain.