Author Emily Dickinson The soul unto itselfIs an imperial friend,—Or the most agonizing spyAn enemy could send.Secure against its own,No treason it can fear;Itself its sovereign, of itselfThe soul should stand in awe. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments