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 --
