A poem by Emily Dickinson
NO rack can torture me,
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My soul ’s at liberty.
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Behind this mortal bone
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There knits a bolder one
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You cannot prick with saw,
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Nor rend with scymitar.
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Two bodies therefore be;
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Bind one, and one will flee.
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The eagle of his nest
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No easier divest
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And gain the sky,
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Than mayest thou,
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Except thyself may be
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Thine enemy;
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Captivity is consciousness,
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So’s liberty.
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