The Tiger by William Blake   Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night Do you see him lying there? What immortal hand or eye Could fame thy fearful symmetry?   In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare be aspire? What the 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 hammers? 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 Dare frame they fearful symmetry?