Emily Dickinson Poem

The Soul Selects Her Own Society

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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

I Dwell In Possibility
A Charm Invests A Face

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