LONDON

London
(William Blake)

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 infant’s cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear

How the chimney-sweeper’s cry
Every black'ning church appalls;
And the hapless Soldier’s sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls.

But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot’s curse
Blasts the new born infant’ tear
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.