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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, & 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 water'd 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 ? William Blake William Blake par Francis Bacon Allen Ginsberg |
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