The Fly Little Fly,Thy summer’s playMy thoughtless handHas brush’d away.Am not IA fly like thee?Or art not thouA man like me?For I danceAnd drink & sing,Till some blind handShall brush my wing.If thought is lifeAnd strength & breath,And the wantOf thought is death,Then am IA happy flyIf I liveOr if I die. La Mosca Pequeña …
The Fly | William Blake
The Room Installation 
You must be logged in to post a comment.