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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