The Grass 



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 dew 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 amulet 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! ^^.^^ Dickinson. 



Toadstools 



And the people said when they saw them there. 

 The fairy umbrellas out in the rain : 



''O Spring has come, so sweet and so fair. 



For there are those odd little toadstools again." 



G. Packard Du Bois. 



There's a thing that grows by the fainting flower. 

 And springs in the shade of the lady's bower ; 

 The lily shrinks and the rose turns pale. 

 When they feel its breath in the summer gale, 

 And the tulip curls its leaves in pride. 

 And the blue-eyed violet starts aside; 



