The Grass So Little Has To Do by Emily Dickinson

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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