The Fly Lyrics

Thy summer's 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, 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