Poems of William Blake

 Infant sorrow

 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.