- 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!