julho 07, 2005

Londres.

London 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 Infants cry of fear.
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.

How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackning Church appalls;
And the hapless Soldiers 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.

William Blake (1757-1827)