I don't know the circumstances of this Christina Rosetti poem, but it may well fit your topic and is a favorite of mine:
BUDS AND BABIES.
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.
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