| Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
|
| In the forests of the night,
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| What immortal hand or eye
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| Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
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| In what distant deeps or skies
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| Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
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| On what wings dare he aspire?
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| What the hand dare sieze the fire?
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| And what shoulder, & what art.
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| Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
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| And when thy heart began to beat,
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| What dread hand? & what dread feet?
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| What the hammer? what the chain?
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| In what furnace was thy brain?
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| What the anvil? what dread grasp
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| Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
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| When the stars threw down their spears,
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| And watered heaven with their tears,
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| Did he smile his work to see?
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| Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
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|
|
|
|
|
|
| Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
|
| In the forests of the night,
|
| What immortal hand or eye
|
| Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
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|
|
|
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