sábado, marzo 20, 2010


My mother groan´d! 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

´I have no name:
´I am but two days old.´
What shall I call thee?


´I happy am,
´Joy is my name.´
Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!
Sweet joy but two days old,
Sweet joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while,
Sweet joy befall thee!

                             Wiliam Blake, Infant sorrow, Infant joy

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