The Tyger
BY WILLIAM BLAKE

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, & 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?

Bungle in the Jungle by Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull

(methinks Ian cribbed a few lines of Blake)

"Bungle In The Jungle"

Walking through forests of palm tree apartments —-
scoff at the monkeys who live in their dark tents
down by the waterhole —- drunk every Friday —-
eating their nuts —- saving their raisins for Sunday.
Lions and tigers who wait in the shadows —-
they're fast but they're lazy, and sleep in green meadows.

Let's bungle in the jungle —- well, that's all right by me.
I'm a tiger when I want love,
but I'm a snake if we disagree.

Just say a word and the boys will be right there:
with claws at your back to send a chill through the night air.
Is it so frightening to have me at your shoulder?
Thunder and lightning couldn't be bolder.
I'll write on your tombstone, “I thank you for dinner.''
This game that we animals play is a winner.

Let's bungle in the jungle —- well, that's all right by me.
I'm a tiger when I want love,
but I'm a snake if we disagree.

The rivers are full of crocodile nasties
and He who made kittens put snakes in the grass.
He's a lover of life but a player of pawns —-
yes, the King on His sunset lies waiting for dawn
to light up His Jungle
as play is resumed.
The monkeys seem willing to strike up the tune.

suffice to say that god in her infinite jest will sort 'em out