The Lamp Burns Sure—within
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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.
Kamu malı: şairin ölümünün üzerinden 70 yıldan fazla geçti.
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