An angry fly within the brain Drones, as at a windowpane, Will not be gone, nor yet be caught, A hungry fly in form of thought. Although my day was surely spent In emptiness; though effort went To muted hours, still in a flood Through all my veins poured urgent blood; And while my mind in black defeat Lay prone, I heard my loud heart beat. I was alive. What paltry thing I did—the fly will ever sing— Shall burn as scarlet on the strange Pale lethargy of death's exchange. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BIGLOW PAPERS: 3. WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM by ALEXANDER POPE HOMAGE TO SEXTUS PROPERTIUS: 1 by EZRA POUND TO MY READERS by ALEXANDER ANDERSON FOAM STRAY by JOSEPH AUSLANDER IMPROMPTU: TO FRANCES GARNET WOLSELEY by ALFRED AUSTIN BODY AND SOUL: A METAPHYSICAL ARGUMENT by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |