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 appalls; 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.
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Return to the Songs of Experience Summary Return to the William Blake Library