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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.
Другие названия этого текста
- William Blake`s songs of Innocence and of Experience - The Fly (1)
- William Blake`s - The Fly (0)
- Victor Vertunni - The Fly (William Blake) (0)
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