The Tyger
By William Blake
TYGER, tyger, burning brightIn 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 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 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?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
HT: Day Poems
4 comments:
But . . . you didn't spell it with a y!
Wendy,
I couldn't resist popping over to see what you'd chosen for this week's poem! This is one of my favourites. Some of Blake's poetry is so sad. I am glad we live in a time when children are allowed a childhood.
QOC: I fixed it! I do like the y spelling better, it was a lazy cut and paste...
Sue: This is a favorite for me, too, although, as a child, it drove me crazy trying to get "eye" and "symmetry" to rhyme!
I agree about childhood. I am doing Blake's "The Lamb" next week - and that is my favorite Blake because I said it over and over to Oob when he was in the NICU.
But I feel like The Lamb is sort of inseparable from The Tyger, so I did the tiger first.
Oh, much better!
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