THE TYGER

THE TYGER

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 water’d 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 ?

                                           William Blake 1794