Dedicated to culture and critical thought since 1998
9/20/1 Lit: Infant Sorrow

Infant Sorrow
William Blake

"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 hands;

Bound and weary I thought best

To sulk upon my mother's breast."

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