The Fly

Little fly
Thy summer’s play
My thoughtless hand
Had 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

~William Blake

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