Paroles de London

I wander through each 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 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