The grass: Trawy

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,
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
Or amulets 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!

 

*****

 

Trawy tyle zajęcia mają tylko, —
Proste to grono zieleni,
Co pielęgnować motylki,
A pszczoły weselić;

 

W muzyczkę bujać dzień cały
Wietrzykom drogę słać,
Hołubić słońca blask
I wszem a wobec kłaniać;

 

Nizać noc całą, jak perełki, rosy,
A to przenajsubtelniej, —
I księżna byłaby za pospolitą
Przy takim ustrojeniu.

 

A nawet gdy umiera, to
Oddaje wonie boskie,
Jak przypraw co zasnęły,
Czy amuletów z sosny.

 

By w suwerennych szopach, wnet
Śnić całymi dniami
Trawa tak mało do roboty ma,
Że, — Chciałabym być sianem!

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