Sublime

Poems of William Blake

I must Create a System, or be enslav'd by another Mans

I will not Reason & Compare: my business is to Create

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…

William Blake

And well contrived words, firm fixing, never forgotten,

Can’t ever get this image out of my head… Great writers write musically.