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.
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