William
Blake
Songs of Experience
![The Angel](../ai_tech/_0MOR.GIF)
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The
Fly
Little
Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.
Am
not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For
I dance,
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If
thought is life
And strength and 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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