William Blake
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
INFANT SORROW
My mother groaned, my father wept;
Into the dangerous world I
lept;
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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