Poems of William Blake

 London

 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.