I have been reading Emily Dickinson from Everyman's Poetry series. Apart from a few poems published during her initial years (the poems were mangled badly by her editors because they went ballistic on seeing her punctuation, limited men as they were), she never published her poetry. In the poem below she speaks of it. (She never titled her poems, the numbers are the reference if you want to locate it in some other book)
Fascicle 17
709
Publication -- is the Auction
Of the Mind of Man --
Poverty -- be justifying
For so foul a thingPossibly -- but We -- would rather
From Our Garret go
White -- Unto the White Creator --
Than invest -- Our Snow --Thought belong 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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