The Fly

William Blake

William Blake portrait

1757 to 1827

Poem Image
The Fly - Track 1

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Little Fly,
    Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
    Has brushed away.

Am not I
    A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
    A man like me?

For I dance,
    And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
    Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
    And strength and breath,
And the want
    Of thought is death;

Then am I
    A happy fly.
If I live,
    Or if I die.

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