The Fly
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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.
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