London

I wander thro’ each charter’d street, 
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow. 
And mark in every face I meet 
Marks of weakness, marks of woe. 

In every cry of every Man, 
In every Infants cry of fear, 
In every voice: in every ban, 
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear 

How the Chimney-sweepers cry 
Every blackning Church appalls, 
And the hapless Soldiers sigh 
Runs in blood down Palace walls 

But most thro’ midnight streets I hear 
How the youthful Harlots curse 
Blasts the new-born Infants tear 
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse 

William Blake

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