Exclusion. By Emily Elizabeth Dickinson

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.