The tiger

The tiger

Tiger tiger burning bright,

In the forest of the night,

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skys,

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 begin 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 through down there tears,

And watered heaven with there tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger tiger burning bright,

in the forest of the night,

What immortal hand or eye?

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

By William Blake