by William Blake
Romantic · Medium · 20 linesmortality
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.
Public domain. Source: PoetryDB. Reproduced verbatim; see theanthology for the full collection.
Matched by documented rules, not taste: two points for every theme tag a poem shares with The Fly, one point for the same era, one for a similar length.
Shares: mortality, Romantic era, similar length · 36 lines
Shares: mortality, similar length · 37 lines
Shares: mortality, Romantic era · 82 lines
Shares: mortality, similar length · 16 lines
Shares: mortality, similar length · 16 lines
Shares: mortality, similar length · 16 lines
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