Читать книгу The Complete Poetry of Emily Dickinson - Эмили Дикинсон - Страница 119

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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.