THE TIGER


        Tiger, tiger, burning bright
        In the forests of the night,
        What immortal hand or eye
        Could frame thy fearful 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 and what dread feet?

        What the hammer? what the chain?
        In what furnace was thy brain?
        What the anvil? What dread grasp
        Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

        When the stars threw down their spears,
        And water'd 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