Publication is the auction
Of the mind of man,
Poverty be justifying
For so foul a thing.
Possibly,—but we would rather
From our garret go
White unto the White Creator,
Than invest our snow.
Thought belongs to Him who gave it—
Then to him who bear
Its corporeal illustration. Sell
The Royal air
In the parcel. Be the merchant
Of the Heavenly Grace,
But reduce no human spirit
To disgrace of price!
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