The Tiger
William Blake. 1757–1827
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 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?
Dedicated to someone who once declared that I was Blake's vision of tiger, personified... Missing you!!
2 comments:
Missing Latha Murali, aren't you?? Well, she was a good friend to you but she sucked as a teacher!!
Hey she wasnt as bad as a teacher as you proclaim it, whoever you are. yeah! she was a good friend to me(who played her politics in school against me) but inspite of it she was one person who looked up to me for my "strength of character" as she proclaimed it. Dedicating Blake's poem is one proof of that :) First tell me who are you??
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