Little fly



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[Woe, alas! my guilty hand Brush'd across thy summer joy; All thy gilded, painted pride Shatter'd fled... del.]

1   Little Fly, Thy summer’s play My [guilty hand del.] thoughtless hand Has brush'd away.

[The cut worm Forgives the plow, And dies in piece, And so do thou del.]

2  Am not I     A fly like thee? Or art not thou A man like me?

3  For I dance, And drink & sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing.

5  Then am I     A happy fly, If I live, Or if I die.

[4  Thought is life And strength & breath; And the want (of del.) Of Thought is death; del.]

4  If thought is life And strength & breath And the want [of del.] Of Thought is death; ________________________________________