London

Poem by William Blake


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 


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Published by eric m martin

A writer, teacher and coffee shop owner living in the southern reaches of the Mojave Desert.

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