Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?Then crouch within the door— Red—is the Fire’s common tint— But when the vivid Ore Has vanquished Flame’s conditions— It quivers from the Forge Without a color, but the LightOf unannointed Blaze— Least Village, boasts it’s Blacksmith— Whose Anvil’s even ringStands symbol for the finer Forge That soundless tugs—within— Refining these impatient Ores With Hammer, and with Blaze Until the designated Light Repudiate the Forge—

The Soul selects her own Society — Then — shuts the Door — To her divine Majority — Present 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.

I am afraid to own a Body—I am afraid to own a Soul—

The Soul selects her own Society.

How frugal is the chariot that bears a human soul.