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 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 ...

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I love to rise on a summer morn, When birds are singing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me: Oh what sweet company! But to go to school in a summer morn, -- Oh it drives all joy away! Under a cruel eye outworn, The little ones spend the day In sighing and dismay. Ah then at times I drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour; Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learning's bower, Worn through with the dreary shower. How ...

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Merry, merry sparrow! Under leaves so green A happy blossom Sees you, swift as arrow, Seek your cradle narrow, Near my bosom. Pretty, pretty robin! Under leaves so green A happy blossom Hears you sobbing, sobbing, Pretty, pretty robin, Near my bosom. ...

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