Tiger, oh light burning tiger

Tiger, oh light burning tiger
Deep in the midnight thicket
By whom is the fire intended
Is your image proportionate?

In the skies or the depths
Was the fire of the eyes of beasts smoldering?
Where did he hide for centuries?
Whose hand found his?

What a master full of strength
Twisted your tight veins
And felt between my hands
The first heavy sound of the heart?

What kind of forge was burning before him?
What kind of mlat was forging you?
Who first squeezed with ticks
An angry brain throwing flames?

And when the whole dome is starry
Overgrown with tearful moisture,
- I smiled at last
The creator of his hands?

Is it really the same power
The same powerful palm
And she made the lamb
And you, night fire?

Tiger, oh light burning tiger
Deep in the midnight thicket!
Whose immortal hand
Is your formidable image created?

Translation by S. Marshak (In the book: William Blake in the translations of S. Marshak. M., 1965.)