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?
Oh, oh, oh
Little fly
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 d**h
Oh, oh, oh
Little fly
Then am I
A happy fly
If I live,
Or if I die