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 fïre 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 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.
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