13

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 Choose; Then close the valves of her attention Like stone.

Emily Dickinson


Vissza/Back
kepecs@xs4all.nl