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SONGS OF EXPERIENCE.
61
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.
