Friday, 15 January 2010
The Soul Selects Her Own Society by Emily Dickinson
The soul selects her own society
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.
Unmoved, she notes the chariot's pausing
At her low gate;
Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling
Upon her mat.
I've known her from an ample nation
Then close the valves of her attention