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.
William Blake was born in London on November 28, 1757, to James, a hosier, and Catherine Blake. Two of his six siblings died in infancy. From early childhood, Blake spoke of having visions—at four he saw God "put his head to the window"; around age nine, whil…
View profile & all 59 Poems / StoriesTo see a World in a Grain of SandAnd a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Is this a holy thing to seeIn a rich and fruitful land,
Never seek to tell thy love,Love that never told can be;
Sleep, sleep, beauty bright,Dreaming in the joys of night;
What is it men in women do requireThe lineaments of Gratified Desire
