Of all the souls that stand create Emily Dickinson

Of all the souls that stand create
I have elected one
When sense from spirit files away
And subterfuge is done

When that which is and that which was
Apart, intrinsic, stand
And this brief tragedy of flesh
Is shifted like a sand

When figures show their royal front
And mists are carved sway
Behold the atom I Feferred
To all the lists of clay!