xxxix
I love our neighbours all, But, Kitty, I better love thee; And love them I ever shall; But thou art all to me.
THE TIGER.
Tiger, Tiger, burning bright, In the forest 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? When thy heart began to beat, What dread hand forged thy dread feet?
