Big Jungle Cats and Small Fuzzy Farm Animals

I'm going back to a golden oldie, something so universally famous it made it into a Batman cartoon.

The Tyger

William 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 
Burnt the fire in 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 watered 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? 




I have to say that it still impresses me: "And what shoulder, and what art?/ Could twist the sinews of thy heart?" It's both childlike and metaphorical, suitable for a mystic as simple and self-taught as Blake. 


It does seem a little less impressive when you see his visual depiction of The Tyger, though.

To me it looks a little more like

Tigger! Tigger! bouncing high, 

Through the woods you're jouncing by.
Could natural selection possibly bring
A top made from rubber and a bottom from springs?




In 1789 Blake published "Songs of Innocence," and five years later added many more poems to republish it as "Songs of Innocence and Experience: Shewing the Two Contrary States of the Human Soul." It's sort of his gloss on the Edenic paradise and subsequent fall as stages of human development.


Traditionally, Tyger is paired with The Lamb from Songs of Innocence.

The Lamb

William Blake

Little Lamb, who made thee? 
Dost thou know who made thee? 
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed, 
By the stream and o'er the mead; 
Gave thee clothing of delight, 
Softest clothing, woolly, bright; 
Gave thee such a tender voice, 
Making all the vales rejoice? 
Little Lamb, who made thee? 
Dost thou know who made thee?


Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, 
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee. 
He is called by thy name, 
For He calls Himself a Lamb. 
He is meek, and He is mild; 
He became a little child. 
I a child, and thou a lamb, 
We are called by His name. 
Little Lamb, God bless thee! 
Little Lamb, God bless thee!




Personally, I feel like the only redeeming thing in the Songs of Innocence is the setup for the punch lines in Songs of Experience. 


It's kind of a shame that it's these things Blake is remembered for, because in addition to his talents as an engraver, printer, typesetter and artist, his longer poetry is visionary, psychedelic, hyper-kinetic, sort of Milton on some herbal folk potion of foxglove and rue. Especially Europe: A Prophecy and Jerusalem are filled with this kind of crazy, overloading imagery that can be a little dense. (I've never made it all the way through either of those books. But I appreciate them.) 


I guess you can't begrudge him, though - I would kill to have something I wrote get into a Batman cartoon. Especially two hundred years after I died.