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“
Infant Sorrow
William Blake 1757 (Soho) – 1827 (London)
My mother groaned, my father wept,
Into the dangerous world I leapt;
Helpless, naked, piping loud,
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Struggling in my father's hands,
Striving against my swaddling bands,
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast.
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"Infant Sorrow" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 24 Jan. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/39113/infant-sorrow>.
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