Tiger, Tiger

"The Tiger"

TIGER, tiger, 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 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 water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

--William Blake


I thought of the Blake poem when I was at the zoo this morning, watching these 4-month-old tiger cubs, but when I heard the news that Madiba had died, the poem seemed even more apposite. Though he was known as a lion, I think the poem still stands.

These cubs seemed to spend all morning terrorising their poor mother, who easily outran them. The cubs were fidgety brats, who wouldn't sit still for a second to be photographed. They were also, as you can see, about the cutest baby animals I've ever seen.