poet William Blake

William Blake

#10 on top 500 poets

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 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.

Poem Submitted: Wednesday, May 9, 2001
Poem Edited: Wednesday, May 9, 2001

Form: Anaphora


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Read poems about / on: marriage, soldier, fear, london, running