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    Infant Sorrow

    by William Blake
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    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.
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