The soul selects her own society, Then shuts the door; On her divine majority Obtrude no more.

THE soul should always stand ajar, That if the heaven inquire, He will not be obliged to wait, Or shy of troubling her. Depart, before the host has slid The bolt upon the door, To seek for the accomplished guest, -- Her visitor no more.

How softly summer shuts, without the creaking of a door ...

Dreams are the subtle Dower That make us rich an Hour Then fling us poor Out of the purple door.

I dwell in Possibility --/ A fairer House than Prose --/ More numerous of Windows --/ Superior --for Doors --.