Emily Dickenson

XLI

THE SOUL unto itself
Is an imperial friend,--
Or the most agonizing spy
An enemy could send.
  
Secure against its own,  
No treason it can fear;
Itself its sovereign, of itself
The soul should stand in awe.

From Emily Dickinson (1830–86).  Complete Poems.  1924

LXX

THE BODY grows outside,--
The more convenient way,--
That if the spirit like to hide,
Its temple stands alway
  
Ajar, secure, inviting;      
It never did betray
The soul that asked its shelter
In timid honesty.