April comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers

What would National Poetry Month be without a little Dickinson? I ♥ American poets.


"The soul selects her own society," Emily Dickinson.

THE SOUL selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.

Unmoved, she notes the chariot’s pausing
At her low gate;
Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling
Upon her mat.

I’ve known her from an ample nation
Choose one;
Then close the valves of her attention
Like stone.