A Selective Soul

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 one;

Then close the valves of her attention

Like stone.

-Emily Dickinson