by Emily Dickinson
620
It makes no difference abroad-
The Seasons-fit-the same-
The Mornings blossom into Noons-
And split their Pods of Flame-
Wild flowers-kindle in the Woods-
The Brooks slam-all the Day-
No Black bird bates his Banjo-
For passing Calvary-
Auto da Fe-and Judgment-
Are nothing to the Bee-
His separation from His Rose-
To Him-sums Misery-
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Last updated June 21, 2015