Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

Exclusion

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.

1. The Riddle We Can Guess
2. Playmates
3. Resurgam
4. The Martyrs
5. Surgeons Must Be Very Careful

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