London by William Blake

by William Blake

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’s tear,

 And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

"I hate quotations. Tell me what you know."