The Tyger
By William Blake
Tyger! Tyger! 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 watered heaven with their
tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make
thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful
symmetry?
Tiger At Dusk
