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.