Poetry Feast

An online poetry arcive with biographies and critical analysis.

Currently serving 7,417 poems by 89 authors.

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

(2 votes, average: 4 out of 5)

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