in the forest of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder and what art,
could twist the sinews of thine heart?
and when thy heart began to beat
What dread hand? And what dread feet?
What the hammer? And what the chain,
In what furace 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 the?
The Tiger, William Blake
