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
Burned the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, and what arm,
Could twist the sinews of they heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
what dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In the 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?

Tiger! tiger! bruning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?