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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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