Poetry

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