by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator
The month of March reaches its midpoint, the Ides of March, tomorrow, and spring will be here in another week. March is the month the roars in like an angry lion and departs like a lamb frolicking in the warm sunshine.
William Blake, the 18th century English poet, explored both extremes of a natural spectrum of predator and prey with his classic poems, "The Tyger" and "The Lamb." Enjoy them as a new season quietly buds out.
Lions, and tygers, and lambs, oh my!
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Poetry Appreciator
The month of March reaches its midpoint, the Ides of March, tomorrow, and spring will be here in another week. March is the month the roars in like an angry lion and departs like a lamb frolicking in the warm sunshine.
William Blake, the 18th century English poet, explored both extremes of a natural spectrum of predator and prey with his classic poems, "The Tyger" and "The Lamb." Enjoy them as a new season quietly buds out.
Lions, and tygers, and lambs, oh my!
The Tyger
by 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 of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize 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.
The Lamb
by William Blake
Little Lamb who made thee
Dost
thou know who made thee
Gave thee life & bid thee feed.
By the stream & o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing wooly 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 & he is mild,
He became a little child:
I a child & thou a lamb,
We are called by his name.
Little
Lamb God bless thee.
Little
Lamb God bless thee.
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