Emily Dickinson - I play at Riches—to appease (801) lyrics

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—