The+Fly+(+pg.+91)

William Blake
 * //__The Fly__//**

Little Fly 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 & sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing.

If though 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.

About this Poem: Here Blake is connecting humanity with all of nature. He is taking an in-depth look at how a simple fly, to most people can just be brushed away with a hand but realizes that there are some simple similarties between him and the fly. He is saying that each human, animal, and even insect exist together in the same world and are therefore the same.