<h3><SPAN name="37">LONDON</SPAN></h3>
I wander through each chartered street,<br/>
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,<br/>
A mark in every face I meet,<br/>
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
<br/><br/>In every cry of every man,<br/>
In every infant’s cry of fear,<br/>
In every voice, in every ban,<br/>
The mind-forged manacles I hear:
<br/><br/>How the chimney-sweeper’s cry<br/>
Every blackening church appals,<br/>
And the hapless soldier’s sigh<br/>
Runs in blood down palace-walls.
<br/><br/>But most, through midnight streets I hear<br/>
How the youthful harlot’s curse<br/>
Blasts the new-born infant’s tear,<br/>
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.
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