Go back to The Fly (from Songs of Experience)

William Blake (1757 - 1827)
The Fly (from Songs of Experience)

Little fly,
Thy summer?s 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.


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