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 '