William Blake

(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827 / London)

The Fly - Poem by William Blake

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.

Comments about The Fly by William Blake

  • Solomon Senxer (9/14/2019 1:03:00 AM)

    Is Blake a philosopher? So enjoying to read this one! (Report)Reply

    0 person liked.
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  • Indira Renganathan (11/30/2016 8:25:00 AM)

    Very enjoyable...what though we live or die...be like a fly is a happy content....like a lot (Report)Reply

    3 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • (8/5/2012 10:25:00 PM)

    A perky little piec written with compassion. Blake had a right to be a happy fly, for he did not want for though. Enjoyed this immensely. (Report)Reply

    22 person liked.
    14 person did not like.
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Read poems about / on: dance, strength, summer, happy, death, life

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, May 9, 2001

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