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
burnt the fires of thin eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare to seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art
could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when the heart began to beat,
what dread hand?
And what dread feet?
What the hammer? What the chain?
In what furnace was your 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?
