Infant Sorrow - 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.