Emily Dickinson

I Play At Riches to Appease

poem 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

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