Polska poezja

Wiersze po polsku

Infant Sorrow

My mother groand! My father wept.
Into the dangerous world I leapt:
Helpless, naked, piping loud
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

Struggling in my father hands
Striving against my swadling bands,
Bound and weary I thought best
To sulk upon my mother’s breast.

1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (2 votes, average: 3,00 out of 5)

Wiersz Infant Sorrow - William Blake