Wednesday, February 23

Front page of my journal, hanging on my wall

"The Fly"
William Blake

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, and sing,
Til some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life,
And strength is breath
And the want
Of thought is death;

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

1 comment:

ckp said...

such a good find!

this woman you posted.. shes beautiful. & not just physically