London - By William Blake

I wandered through each chartered street,
     Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
   A 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-forged manacles I hear:

   How the chimney-sweeper's cry
     Every blackening church appalls,
   And the hapless soldier's sigh
     Runs in blood down palace-walls.

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