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.