THE GRASS IN MADISON SQUARE
The pleasant turf is dried and marred and seared,The grass is dead.No soft green shoot, by rain and sunshine reared,Lifts up its head.I think the grass that made the park so gayIn early springNow decks the lawns of Heaven where babies playAnd dance and sing.And poor old vagabonds who now have leftThe dusty street,Find fields of which they were in life bereft,Beneath their feet.
The pleasant turf is dried and marred and seared,The grass is dead.No soft green shoot, by rain and sunshine reared,Lifts up its head.I think the grass that made the park so gayIn early springNow decks the lawns of Heaven where babies playAnd dance and sing.And poor old vagabonds who now have leftThe dusty street,Find fields of which they were in life bereft,Beneath their feet.
The pleasant turf is dried and marred and seared,The grass is dead.No soft green shoot, by rain and sunshine reared,Lifts up its head.
The pleasant turf is dried and marred and seared,
The grass is dead.
No soft green shoot, by rain and sunshine reared,
Lifts up its head.
I think the grass that made the park so gayIn early springNow decks the lawns of Heaven where babies playAnd dance and sing.
I think the grass that made the park so gay
In early spring
Now decks the lawns of Heaven where babies play
And dance and sing.
And poor old vagabonds who now have leftThe dusty street,Find fields of which they were in life bereft,Beneath their feet.
And poor old vagabonds who now have left
The dusty street,
Find fields of which they were in life bereft,
Beneath their feet.