|
THE TIGER MOTH
Dedication to William Blake
Tiger ! Tiger ! burning dim
wrought of pain, racked in sin;
what primordial hand or eye
beguiles thee to rise and fly.
In what depths beyond the skies
lights the flame, attracts thine eyes.
On what wings do thou take flight
from rushing dawn, to silent night.
What the power, what the love,
that lifts thee like a wingéd Dove.
What the sight that halts thy breath
and guides thee through a temporal death.
What the singer, what the song,
that guides thy feet from stepping wrong;
and what rhythm thy heart dost pound-
what the nature of its ground.
That silent love beyond the white,
beyond the pain, beyond the fight,
which strains thy sinews in its rise,
like Phoenix to eternal skies.
Tiger ! Tiger ! thee I know;
in darkness, cold, and winters snow;
the die is cast, your path is right;
Tiger ! Tiger ! you'll burn bright.
* * *
|
|
|
