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 cray if fear,
In every vioce, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
the Chimney-sweper's cry
Every blackening Chruch 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's tear,
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.
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