The Grass

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,
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
Or amulets of pine.
,
And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
And dream the days away, --
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were the hay!