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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.

Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 4:49 PM | Viewed: 7833 times

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