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Infant Sorrow: Poem by William Blake

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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.

Analysis of this poem
  • children
  • sorrow

More verses by William Blake

  • The Blossom
  • Jerusalem
  • Night
  • The Lamb
  • Love And Harmony

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Poems about...
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