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
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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