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.
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Emily Dickinson · Modernismo
inglés
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.
← Etext scanned by Jim Tinsley <jtinsley@pobox.com> — XLVIIIEtext scanned by Jim Tinsley <jtinsley@pobox.com> — XV →
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