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 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
Did frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake, a poet, writer and an artist, cuts and interesting figure in the annals of American history.  He was apprenticed to be an engraver at a young age, and continued to do so throughout his life.  Despite his popularity now, he was unknown and not cared for during his own time, and was buried in a common grave.   This poem is a parallel of another of his most popular, that of The Lamb.  

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