Emily Dickinson Poems

Back to Poems Page

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.

Email This Poem to a Friend

Previous Poem | Next Poem

View Emily Dickinson:  Poems | Quotes | Biography | Books

Copyright © 2006 - 2010 Famous Poets And Poems . com. All Rights Reserved.
The Poems and Quotes on this site are the property of their respective authors. All information has been
reproduced here for educational and informational purposes.