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
could frame thy fearful symmetry
- William Blake, 1757 - 1827
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