LONDON (poem of William Blake [1757-1827])
I wander thro' each charter'd street

Near where the charter'd 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-forg'd manacles I hear:

How the Chimney-sweeper's cry

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

Blasts the new born Infant's tear,

And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

(Excerpt from "AMERICA")

Rise and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are

open;

And let his wife and children return from the opressor's

scourge.

They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream,

Singing: "The Sun has left his blackness, and has found a fresher

morning,

And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night;

For Empire is no more, and now the Lion and Wolf shall

cease."