The Fly

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