The Fly
Little Fly
Thy summers 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 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.
Commentary
The Fly touches me, like all great art, at several levels. The words are simple yet so profound- le mot juste. The structure is perfect for the subject, the tone and the meaning. The rhythm simple yet powerful, again eminently suited to the tone, and the message. The “meaning” is so clear, Blake succeeds so well, seemingly effortlessly- a 5 year-old and a 50 year-old can both access it equally well:
...the pages blur,
the walls
transparent.
Finally, it is a delight to read aloud, and silently- a joy of a poem.
— Sriram