Little Fly
Thy summers play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink & sing;
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength & breath;
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
The Fly
William Blake
(2)
Poem topics: away, breath, dance, death, happy, life, strength, wing, play, blind, drink, live, thought, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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