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?