nessun titolo

Wed, 18 Jul 2007 04:45:32 GMT

Raramente,

Mi sento così in pace,

Come liquido.

Ed amo il vento

Che mi sfiora,

E la luna

Che mi guarda.

sognato il 17-07 alle 22.38

The Tiger (William Blake - 1794)

Mon, 05 Jun 2006 09:49:37 GMT

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, 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 grasp?

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?