 | Poems by Emily Dickinson |  |
92
XX.
TWO WORLDS.
It makes no difference abroad,
The seasons fit the same,
The mornings blossom into noons,
And split their pods of flame.
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.
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.
Are nothing to the bee;
His separation from his rose
To him seems misery.
| Poems by Emily Dickinson | |