Saturday, 10 October 2009

The Tiger

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Framed thy fearful symmetry?

...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?

         William Blake



  1. Oh how neat to have captured the tiger(s) :)

  2. Oooh. Nice. Love it. Reading Blake in World Lit this week. That poem is in the book. Uncanny.


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