Charles Lamb - To the Grass

To the Grass

In the green glade where softly springs The fragrant herb, and zephyr sings, I find my solace, sweet and true, Among the blades of tender dew.

The eye that reads the pages sweet, Of every blossom at my feet, Shall find a temple in the grass, Where might and misery let pass.

Oh, grassy meadow with thy charms, Where all my stillness gently warms, Compact of hopes and memory’s creed, In nature’s heart, where dreamers feed.