Emily Dickinson - The Grass so little has to do

The Grass so little has to do,
A Sphere of simple Green,
Yet offer here and there, a Leaf,
Or Two was all, that ’s seen –

And then a Shrub, for company,
A Bush of Leaves to sigh,
And sky must hold the other
That might be all the Cry

Of Nature to the Little Grass,
That offers her, no more,
But ought to lift her Lustre high
Than in the Dawn or Night’s decor

For only Nature’s Golden Fork
Keeps swelling it beyond
The realms of what is born to truly
Seem no more than sound –

Yet sundry visions bloom around,
Why can’t they find the Night?
What matters to a world of Grace
If Light has been all right?

And, when they breathe away
No line and shimmer into Light,
Till all the world is met again
In Nature’s sable height!