The Tiger by: Willian Blake
Tiger! Tiger! Buring 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 turist 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 auvil? What dread grasp?
Dare it's 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?
Tiger! Tight! Burning bright
in the forests of the nigh
What immortal hand or eye
could frame thy fearful symmetry?
