Emily Dickinson - The grass so little has to do

The grass so little has to do,
A Sphere of simple Green –
Yet highly prized for the Oil,
To the Sky of Heroes keen.

It fades beneath the Foot –
Then brings the higher Vale –
A Cradle for the weary –
Elysian Hill of Grace.

Each blade a grasping Anchor,
Each blade a rope to Heaven
By which on wings of Synod,
The weary Grove may rise.

“The grass so little has to do”