With much ado you fail to tell
The requisites for writing well;
But what bad writing is, you quite
Have proved by every line you write.
“I dug and dug amongst the snow,
And thought the flowers would never grow;
I dug and dug amongst the sand,
And still no green thing came to hand.
Melt, O snow! the warm winds blow
To that the flowers and melt the snow;
But all the winds from every land
Will rear no blossom from the sand.”
Christina Rossetti