The Tyger

by William Blake

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 sieze 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 ?