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Will (Poem)

Oh flickering lamp of life, whose flame
One tiny circle in the gloom
Serves to illume, I cannot blame
You, tho’ I flutter to my doom.

Oh tree of knowledge, though I ate
Your golden sun-browned fruit, nor knew
Till then the mysteries of Fate—
Ill breeding ill—I blame not you!

Oh serpent, whom the woman blamed!
Oh woman, whom man interposed
’Twixt him and God, and was ashamed—
Not you I blame for Eden closed.

Oh light towards which I verge, to die!
Oh wisdom that I seek, to rue!
Whate’er I have I willed, and I
Regret no past, not blame I you!

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Eleanor Gray

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