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 brag all the day;
No blackbird bates his jargoning
For passing Calvary.
Auto-da-fé and Judgment
Are nothing to the bee;
His separation from his rose
To him seems misery.
First print Nature XX, 20
Johnson 620 | Franklin 686
The text may be used under any of the following licenses:
Creative Commons License 4.0, BY-SA 3.0, and License 2.5.
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