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Infant Sorrow

William Blake·1757–1827
Lines:8Movement:Romanticism
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 bestTo sulk upon my mother's breast.