The Fly -- William Blake

Guest poem sent in by Sriram

(Poem #97) 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. -- William Blake

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