The
Tyger
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?
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