I wander 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 appalls,
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.
But most, through midnight's streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's ear,
And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse
.
Comments (0)
You don't have permission to comment on this page.