Goblin Market, and other poems, by Christina Rossetti

Winter Rain

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.


Last updated Thursday, March 6, 2014 at 15:33