It Makes No Difference Abroad
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—
Next 10 Poems
- Emily Dickinson : It Might Be Lonelier
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- Emily Dickinson : It Sounded As If The Streets Were Running
- Emily Dickinson : It Stole Along So Stealthy
- Emily Dickinson : It Struck Me Every Day
- Emily Dickinson : It Tossed-and Tossed
- Emily Dickinson : It Troubled Me As Once I Was
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- Emily Dickinson : It Was A Quiet Seeming Day-
Previous 10 Poems
- Emily Dickinson : It Knew No Medicine
- Emily Dickinson : It Knew No Lapse, Nor Diminuation
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- Emily Dickinson : It Don't Sound So Terrible-quite-as It Did
- Emily Dickinson : It Did Not Surprise Me
- Emily Dickinson : It Ceased To Hurt Me, Though So Slow
