Little Fly, The 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 danceanddrinkandsing

Tillsomblinhanshallbrushmywing

Ifthoughtslifanstrensanbreaf

Andthewantofthoughtisdeath

Then am I a happy fly

If I live, or if I die