London

I wander through each chartered street Near where the chartered 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-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