London

by 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 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

Blast the new-born Infants tear

And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

Published by Robin

I'm a retired journalist who still has stories to tell. This seems to be a good place to tell them.

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