The Fly
By, William Blake (1757-1827)

Little Fly,
Thy summer’s play
My thoughtless hand 
Has [bad word] d away.

not I
fly like thee?
Or art not thou
man like me?

For I dance,
And Drink,& sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall [bad word] my wing.

If thought is life
And strength & breath,
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
happy fly,
If I live
Or if I die.