The Soul Selects Her Own Society (by Emily Dickinson)

Emily Dickinson
The Soul selects her own Society—
Then—shuts the Door—
To her divine Majority—
Present no more—
Unmoved—she notes the Chariots—pausing—
At her low Gate—
Unmoved—an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat—
I've known her—from an ample nation—
Choose One—
Then—close the Valves of her attention—
Like Stone—
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This is a difficult poem for me to get into. It's reather abstract... Can you help with a little commentary?
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I suppose not then.
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