London

I wandered 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.