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
This mid-line break is interesting because it forces us to think about the implications of ‘dies’. This metaphorical woman is so lovely that even when she dies she smells amazing–another way to reinforce her wealth–and she’s so important that her death causes the death of the plants used to perfume her body.
The Grass