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Emily Dickinson - The Grass
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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 –
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