Poemsby Emily Dickinson


 No rack can torture me, My soul's at liberty Behind this mortal bone There knits a bolder one 
 You cannot prick with saw, Nor rend with scymitar. Two bodies therefore be; Bind one, and one will flee. 
 The eagle of his nest No easier divest And gain the sky, Than mayest thou, 
 Except thyself may be Thine enemy; Captivity is consciousness, So's liberty.