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801 I play at Riches—to appease The Clamoring for Gold— It kept me from a Thief, I think, For often, overbold With Want, and Opportunity— I could have done a Sin And been Myself that easy Thing An independent Man— But often as my lot displays Too hungry to be borne I deem Myself what I would be— And novel Comforting My Poverty and I derive— We question if the Man— Who own—Esteem the Opulence— As We—Who never Can— Should ever these exploring Hands Chance Sovereign on a Mine— Or in the long—uneven term To win, become their turn— How fitter they will be—for Want— Enlightening so well— I know not which, Desire, or Grant— Be wholly beautiful—
Added: 30 Sep 2002 | Last Read: 13 Feb 2012 4:55 AM | Viewed: 5712 times
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Emily Dickinson
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