by Emily Dickinson
233
The Lamp burns sure-within-
Tho' Serfs-supply the Oil-
It matters not the busy Wick-
At her phosphoric toil!
The Slave-forgets-to fill-
The Lamp-burns golden-on-
Unconscious that the oil is out-
As that the Slave-is gone.
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Last updated June 21, 2015