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 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 appals；
     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.