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

  • Gold Star - 45,332 Points Gangadharan Nair Pulingat (1/13/2015 9:26:00 AM)

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

    0 person liked.
    4 person did not like.
  • Gold Star - 5,215 Points Walterrean Salley (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

  • Rookie Poppi Westbury (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

  • Rookie Jiang Yunsheng (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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