I wandered through each chartered street, <br /> Near where the chartered Thames does flow, <br /> A mark in every face I meet, <br /> Marks of weakness, marks of woe. <br /> <br /> In every cry of every man, <br /> In every infant's cry of fear, <br /> In every voice, in every ban, <br /> The mind-forged manacles I hear: <br /> <br /> How the chimney-sweeper's cry <br /> Every blackening church appals, <br /> And the hapless soldier's sigh <br /> Runs in blood down palace-walls. <br /> <br /> But most, through midnight streets I hear <br /> How the youthful harlot's curse <br /> Blasts the new-born infant's tear, <br /> And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse.<br /><br />William Blake<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/london/
