The Fly, by 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 & sing;
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

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

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

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難道這就是所謂「朝聞道，夕死，可矣！」？
人與蠅的同一
在盲目的手中朝生暮死
難道，思想
不過是一場夏日的遊戲？