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Written by: William Blake

i wander through the chartered streets,
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 appalls,
and the hapless soldier's sigh,
runs in blood down palace walls
but most through midnight streets i hear
how the youthful harlots curse
blasts the new-born infant's tear,
and blights with plagues the marriage hearse