Share this page :
William Blake (28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827 / London)
Poems by William Blake : 36 / 138
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.
William Blake
Submitted: Wednesday, May 09, 2001
Edited: Wednesday, May 09, 2001
Read poems about / on: father, mother, sorrow, world
Poems by William Blake : 36 / 138
People who read William Blake also read
Top 500 Poems
-
Phenomenal Woman
Maya Angelou
-
The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost
-
Still I Rise
Maya Angelou
-
If You Forget Me
Pablo Neruda
-
Dreams
Langston Hughes
-
Annabel Lee
Edgar Allan Poe
-
If
Rudyard Kipling
-
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Maya Angelou
-
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
-
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
Robert Frost
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.
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!
Infant Sorrow? The sorrow of human existence?