William Blake

(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827 / London)

Infant Sorrow - Poem by 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 bands,
Bound and weary, I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast.


Comments about Infant Sorrow by William Blake

  • Alisha Castle (2/10/2016 12:19:00 PM)


    Lovely poem by William Blake...As always. (Report) Reply

    5 person liked.
    1 person did not like.
  • (1/13/2015 9:26:00 AM)


    Very high imaginations about the thoughts of child. (Report) Reply

  • (3/30/2013 7:48:00 PM)


    Even babies experience so much that we, as adults, don't realize. I'm glad this child (with proper nurturing) made it. Very gifted, he had so much to offer, and has left the world a beautiful legacy. May many others experience such feat. (Report) Reply

  • (2/28/2008 4:35:00 AM)


    This poem is so fun! The last line is perfect! Infant sorrow perfectly describes I think, how a little bub must feel upon arrival into the noisy bright world after being so snug in the womb for so long - at least until they realise you are there to love them and most importantly feed them ;) - then all sorrow must surely be gone! (Report) Reply

  • (2/28/2008 1:32:00 AM)


    Infant Sorrow? The sorrow of human existence? (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: father, mother, sorrow, world



Poem Submitted: Wednesday, May 9, 2001

Poem Edited: Wednesday, May 9, 2001


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