The Soul selects her own Society --
Then -- shuts the Door --
To her divine Majority --
Present no more --
Unmoved -- she notes the Chariots -- pausing --
At her low Gate --
Unmoved -- an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat --
I've known her -- from an ample nation --
Choose One --
Then -- close the Valves of her attention --
Like Stone --
More verses by Emily Dickinson
- A Shady Friend For Torrid Days
- After A Hundred Years
- A Little East Of Jordan
- As Imperceptibly As Grief
- A Moth The Hue Of This