The Tyger
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by 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 sieze the fire?
|
| And what shoulder, & what art.
| Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
| And when thy heart began to beat,
| What dread hand? & 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?