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.

Image Source: Stephen Filarsky

 

And then to dwell in sovereign barns,

And dream the days away--

The grass so little has to do,

I wish I were hay!