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 �