Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner thaat I lurve London Town

49

London

I wander thro’ each charter’d street

Near where the charter’d Thames does fl ow,

And mark in every face I meet

Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

5

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

10

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

15

Blasts the new-born Infant’s tear,

And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

William Blake