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
appals,
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.
LONDON
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