Wednesday, October 04, 2006

The Fly















The Fly


Little Fly
Thy summers 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.

-William Blake

4 comments:

Miao said...

Haha. I'm loving your blog. You keep posting stuff written by my favorite philosophers/writers/poets on my favorite topics.

estelwen said...

lolx. thanks! i found this poem quite interesting.

faith said...

reminds me of king lear!

"likes flies to wanton boys are we to the gods/ they kill us for their sport" or something like that.

bbzzzzzzzzzz...

estelwen said...

haha whao...