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London
BYÂ WILLIAM BLAKE
I wander thro' each charter'd street,Â
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow.Â
And mark in every face I meetÂ
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.Â
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In every cry of every Man,Â
In every Infants cry of fear,Â
In every voice: in every ban,Â
The mind-forg'd manacles I hearÂ
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How the Chimney-sweepers cryÂ
Every blackning Church appalls,Â
And the hapless Soldiers sighÂ
Runs in blood down Palace wallsÂ
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But most thro' midnight streets I hearÂ
How the youthful Harlots curseÂ
Blasts the new-born Infants tearÂ
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearseÂ
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