The soul selects her own society,Emily Dickinson
Then shuts the door
I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.
My soul has grown deep like the rivers.
If I can comprehend but not control,
I need not gloom my days with futile dread,
Because I see a part and not the whole.
Contemplating the strange, I’m comforted
By this narcotic thought: I know my soul.
I plucked my soul out of its secret place,
And held it to the mirror of my eye,
To see it like a star against the sky.