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-