Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burn the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace thy brain?
What the anvil? what the dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spear,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Uff... Blake, Blake, Blake... éste sí que me gusta. Me gusta mucho, como pintor y como escritor. Era un tío muy extraño, rodeado de esoterismo, vaticinios,... muy visionario, totalmente irracional. Era tan introspectivo que pudo llegar a captar la esencia de las cosas con la abstracción y el simbolismo.