William Blake: A Tigris (The Tiger)

                                A Tigris (The Tiger)

                                        Tigris, tigris, égő láng

                                        erdőnkben, mely éjszakánk,

                                        mily töretlen kéz és szem

                                        vágta tested tűz-vizen?

                                        Mily mélység vagy zord egek

                                        mélyén lobbant fel szemed?

                                        Mily szárnyra kapott vágyva,

                                        ki a tüzet belédhányta?

                                        Milyen váll és mily művész

                                        gyúrta szíved izmait? Kész

                                        szived mikor elsőt vert,

                                        karod, lábad ugrásra kelt?

                                        Mily kalapács, mily láncok

                                        vertek, s mily tűzben lángolt

                                        agyad? Mily üllő izzott,

                                        vágva gyilkos terrorod?

                                        A csillagok dárdát vetve,

                                        könnyekkel mennyet gerjesztve

                                        mosolygott rád Mestered?

                                        Báránya a testvéred?

                                        Tigris, tigris, égő láng

                                        erdőnkben, mely éjszakánk,

                                        mily töretlen kéz és szem

                                        vágta tested tűz-vizen?

                                                                                     Sánta Zsolt ford.

                 Az eredeti vers:

                                                      The Tiger
                                                 By William Blake
                                                    (1757-1827)

                                        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?