Tyger! Tyger! burning bright in the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? - William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright in the forests of the night...

Seeing this False Christ, in fury and passion I made my voice heard all over the nation. … I am sure this Jesus will not do
Either for Englishman or Jew.

Little Fly
Thy summers play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance
And drink & sing:
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength & breath:
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die

As a man is, so he sees. As the eye is formed, such are its powers.