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The Grass so little has to do -
A Sphere of simple Green -
With only Butterflies to brood
And Bees to entertain -
And stir all day to pretty Tunes
The Breezes fetch along -
And hold the Sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything -
And thread the Dews, all night,
like Pearls -
And make itself so fine
A Duchess were too common
For such a noticing -
And even when it dies - to pass
In Odors so divine -
Like Lowly spices, lain to sleep -
Or Spikenards, perishing -
And then, in Sovereign Barns to
dwell -
And dream the Days away,
The Grass so little has to do
I wish I were a Hay -
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