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
For Blake, a fiend was not to be regarded as evil but an embodiment of energy and instinct. So here the baby comes into the world not as a peaceful, meek being but as one filled with positive energy and potential instinctual life.
Infant Sorrow