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 cryEvery blackening church appalls,And the hapless soldier's sighRuns in blood down palace-walls.
But most, through midnight streets I hearHow the youthful harlot's curseBlasts the new-born infant's tear,And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse.
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