Winter Rain

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 flock 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.