when I am an old man and live by the sea will all your thoughts fly to me?,
little fly, thy summer's play my thoughtless hand has brushed away. am not i ...
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.
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