Poem by Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

* * *

The soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend, --
Or the most agonizing spy
An enemy could send.

Secure against its own,
No treason it can fear;
Itself its sovereign, of itself
The soul should stand in awe.

1. Love's Humility
2. What Soft, Cherubic Creatures
3. Desire
4. Power
5. Is Bliss, Then, Such Abyss

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