The Tiger by William Blake

The Tiger 

by William Blake

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 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,

Dare fram