Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:

Pipe a song about a Lamb!
So I piped with merry chear.
Piper, pipe that song again;
So I piped: he wept to hear.

Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
Sing thy songs of happy chear:
So I sung the same again,
While he wept with joy to hear.

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?
