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 INFANT SORROW

                                     i

                     My mother groan'd, my father wept;
                     Into the dangerous world I leapt,
                     Helpless, naked, piping loud,
                     Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

                                     ii

                     Struggling in my father's hands,
                     Striving against my swaddling-bands,
                     Bound and weary, I thought best
                     To sulk upon my mother's breast,

                                    iii

                     When I saw that rage was vain,
                     And to sulk would nothing gain,
                     Turning many a trick and wile
                     I began to soothe and smile,

                                     iv

                     And I sooth'd day after day,
                     Till upon the ground I stray;
                     And I smil'd night after night,
                     Seeking only for delight,

                                     v

                     And I saw before me shine
                     Clusters of the wand'ring vine;
                     And, beyond, a Myrtle-tree
                     Stretch'd its blossoms out to me.

                                     vi

                     But a Priest with holy look,
                     In his hands a holy book,
                     Pronounced curses on his head
                     Who the fruits or blossoms shed

                                    vii

                     I beheld the Priest by night;
                     He embrac'd my Myrtle bright:
                     I beheld the Priest by day,
                     Where beneath my vines he lay.

                                    viii

                     Like a serpent in the day
                     Underneath my vines he lay:
                     Like a serpent in the night
                     He embrac'd my Myrtle bright.

                                     ix