Monday 10 March 2014

The Tyger

Se pronunci Tiger Tiger in Londra, oggi, tutt'al più ti senti rispondere con la località di un pub. Persone di cultura ce ne sono, ma si son nascoste bene. Non hanno molta voglia di mescolarsi con quelli che la cultura l'hanno lasciata sul fondo di una pinta di birra.











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?


Qui l'analisi completa della poesia.

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