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POEMS IN PROCESS / A3
Titiuin L! ITR funidLL deep i ill) Inn id i iljj dmo ctaiiip
?frntre weft of-? ingumc woe .In nlial vAd<j ft uiliul mould
JWoe thy oyes A IHl t i nlId
What the han mer w hat the chain
In what furna e was thy brain
dread grasp
What the anv 1 what Dare ?Oiulll its deadly terrors clanp pros]* clasp
Tyger Tyger b ir 'ning bright In the forests if the night What immorti hand & eye
frame
Dare forirr thy fearful symmetry
[Trial Stanzas]
Brhmt in distant deeps orgies The uel fire o thine eye, CoulcMieart descend or wings aspire What the hand dabe sieze theNfire
dare he smiln liunh
/
And did he laugh his work to see
ankle
What the sliuuldfLU'llkL Llie knee-
Dare
4 OitHhe who made the lamb make thee 1 When the stars threw down their spears 2 And waterd heaven with their tears
[Second Fidl Draft]
ityger Tyger burning bright , InVhe forests ofcthe night yS WhVt Immortal Band & eye / DareYrame thy fearful symmetry
And what shoulder & Vhat art
Could twist the sineyre qf thy heart
And when my he^ft begaio to beat
What dread aria & what oread feet
When tHe stars fihrew down thoir spears
AncLwatcrd heaven with their tears
Din he smile his wWv to see /Did he who made tnfe lamb make tnfe?
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A4 / POEMS IN PROCESS
f'yger Tyger buhung'15right In mNJorestj^ffth^iight What ip>t^ortal hand Ss^eye DjP^TramtSlhy fearful syWnetry
[Final Version, 1794]2
The Tyger
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 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 was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp, Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
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?
Tyger, Tyger burning bright, In the forests of the night: What immortal hand or eye, Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH She dwelt among the untrodden ways
[Version in a Letter to Coleridge, December 1798 or January 1799]'
My hope was one, from cities far Nursed on a lonesome heath: Her lips were red as roses are, Her hair a woodbine wreath.
