Classic Poem

Every little blade of grass
Says " Good-Morning " when we pass;
Every tree doth nod and say,
" 'Tis a rare " or " Rainy day; "

Every rose on every bush,
Be it Brier, Moss, or Blush,
Lifts its lips in fragrant bliss
For a caress or a kiss.

Would we only list and hear
All they whisper in our ear,
Thou and I need never know
Foolish words like " Want " and " Woe; "

I and thou in tranquil ways
Might employ the nights and days;
Nature loveth to confer
Peace on him who heedeth her.