A thought, enticed
The Tiger
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 beggan 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 grasp?
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?
- William Blake -
* * *
I've been meaning to toss this in here for quite some time. It's reprinted everywhere, as most English (literate) speakers have heard of it, but I've just particularly taken it from a volume of my 1909 print Harvard Classics set. I really love that set. I'm going to miss it when I'm in Cambridge. Of course, I'll have the best libraries/bookstores in the US, so I guess I can deal. But I digress.
I find the meaning of this poem to be fairly obvious. I really don't know what made me think of it today, but it definitely raises an interesting point, one that is worthy of contemplation. The line, "Did He who made the lamb make thee?" - Did the same God who could make everything so wonderful also make everything so terrible? And worse yet, the line before, "Did He smile...?"
Taking out the religious context, I think the poem struck me at this particular time because of the bipolarism in a creator to which it alludes. Everything we create, particularly personal relationships, even our own personalities, has both good and evil, black and white sides. It's very amazing, and speaks only to the beautiful complexity of humanity that the same person who can act so relentlessly lovingly can also hurt with the immediacy of a leather whip. Think about that for a bit.
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 beggan 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 grasp?
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?
- William Blake -
* * *
I've been meaning to toss this in here for quite some time. It's reprinted everywhere, as most English (literate) speakers have heard of it, but I've just particularly taken it from a volume of my 1909 print Harvard Classics set. I really love that set. I'm going to miss it when I'm in Cambridge. Of course, I'll have the best libraries/bookstores in the US, so I guess I can deal. But I digress.
I find the meaning of this poem to be fairly obvious. I really don't know what made me think of it today, but it definitely raises an interesting point, one that is worthy of contemplation. The line, "Did He who made the lamb make thee?" - Did the same God who could make everything so wonderful also make everything so terrible? And worse yet, the line before, "Did He smile...?"
Taking out the religious context, I think the poem struck me at this particular time because of the bipolarism in a creator to which it alludes. Everything we create, particularly personal relationships, even our own personalities, has both good and evil, black and white sides. It's very amazing, and speaks only to the beautiful complexity of humanity that the same person who can act so relentlessly lovingly can also hurt with the immediacy of a leather whip. Think about that for a bit.