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!