Oh, the green things growing, the green things growing,

The faint sweet smell of the green things growing!

I should love to live, whether I smile or grieve,

Just to watch the happy life of my green things growing.

Oh, the fluttering and the pattering of those green things growing,

How they talk to each other, when none of us are knowing.

In the wonderful white by the weird moonlight,

Of the dim dreamy dawn when the cocks are crowing.

I love them so—my green things growing,

And I think they love me without any knowing;

For by many a tender touch, they comfort me so much,

With the soft mute comfort of green things growing.