 The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Brenda J. Davis. 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 doos 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 odour 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Bruce Kechuk. 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 doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Caitlin Buckley. 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 that breezes fetch along, and hold the sunshine in its lap, and bow to everything, and thread the doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Craig Franklin. 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 that breezes fetch along, and hold the sunshine in its lap, and bow to everything, and thread the doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Chad Horner from Balli Clare in County Antrim, Northern Ireland, set jaded in the north-east of the island of Ireland. 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 that breezes fetch along, and hold the sunshine in its lap, and bow to everything, and thread the doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Cornel Nemesh in Reno, Nevada 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 that breezes fetch along, and hold the sunshine in its lap, and bow to everything, and thread the doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Garth Burton 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 that breezes fetch along, and hold the sunshine in its lap, and bow to everything, and thread the doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Graham Scott Cheltenham, England GrahamScottAudio.com 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 that breezes fetch along, and hold the sunshine in its lap, and bow to everything, and thread the doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Ian King 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 doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Elle Wonder 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 doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Kevin S 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 doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Leanne Howlett 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 doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Larry Wilson The grass has so little 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 doos 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 odours 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 has so little to do, I wish I were the hay. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Lola Janie Today, August 6, 2019 in Alexandria, Virginia. 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 doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Nick 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 doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Skylark1 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 doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Grass by Emily Dickinson Red for LibriVox.org by Susan Fleming of Wellington, Alabama 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 doos 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 odours 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. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.