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.