No Place or Time

This curly childhood of the year,

These days of dancing blood-

Is spring the proper time for breath

To be resigned for good?

When Summer’s face is bright and clear,

And all the trees are green-

Shall I believe that time has come

To creep away unseen?

When Autumn shuffles leaves of gold,

And deals them in one heap-

Must I agree that that’s the hour

For everlasting sleep?

And when the world is white with snow,

With Winter in his prime-

I’ll maintain that Death’s a fool,

That knows no place or time.