The Lamp burns sure — within —
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| ←The Sun — just touched the Morning — (232) | The Lamp burns sure — within — by 233 |
(234) You're right — "the way is narrow" —→ |
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.
| Poetry by Emily Dickinson (edit list): | |
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