friend or foe, The Tiger?

"THE TIGER," William Blake (1757-1827)

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 water'd 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 thy fearful symmetry?

This poem has been swirling around in my head lately, mostly in pieces, mostly the first two stanzas. It has gotten in there for two reasons; the first being that I loaned my copies of Songs of Innocence, Songs of Experience and The Book of Urizen (all by Blake) to a fellow farmer; secondly, the tiger in the poem reminds me of someone at the Farm--someone I can't quite understand and can't make heads or tails of. 'Nuff said on that.

I am overdue to write something worth while about Farm life and trivial library things, and I will, just not now. I need to go and get ready to go to town for beers with coworkers.

Enjoy the poem!


Maria said…
I love this poem!
nothing like poems about industry to mull over, I do like this one as well glad you read some of my blogs! AND COMMENTED!! You are great!!

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