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 watered 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
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
-William Blake.
Why I wrote this poem, I mean copied, the reason is that I had been watching a TV serial called Mentalist in which this poem is used by the criminal. It did sound nice when they speak about it “Tiger, tiger burning bright……” So I wanted to know the meaning. Though a part of the poem’s meaning is described by one of the character in the serial, it was my interest to know. So, in the process I wanted to make a copy of it in my post here.
0 responses to “The Tiger”
such a beautiful poem…read your other posts too. you write well.
your newest follower via bloggers.com. Voted and followed you there too. you can find me at http://purplechronicle.blogspot.com/
such a beautiful poem…read your other posts too. you write well.
your newest follower via bloggers.com. Voted and followed you there too. you can find me at http://purplechronicle.blogspot.com/