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.