The Tiger
Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy rearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire
What the hand dare seize the fire
And what shoulder, and what art,
could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand forged thy dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was they brain?
What the anvil? whad dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars thres down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry.
William Blake (1757-1827)
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