Little Fly,
Thy summer's
My thoughtless
Has brushed away.
Am not IA fly like thee?
Or art not thouA man like me?
For I
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is
And strength and
And the
Of thought is death;
Then am IA happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.illustrated by William Blake in "Songs of Innocence and of Experience", 1794
