21 October, 2012

The Tyger

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forest 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, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chair?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

What 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 forest of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake
Amazing poem, I love it best when I speak the poem, it sounds fabulous, taste fabulous, feel fabulous. Just pure AWESOMENESS

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