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)

2 Comments:

At 6:07 da tarde, Blogger Tiago Mendes said...

Bela homenagem...

 
At 8:38 da tarde, Anonymous Anónimo said...

Não resisto:

And farther west on the upper reaches the place of the monstrous town [Londres] was still marked ominously on the sky, a brooding gloom in sunshine, a lurid glare under the stars.
   'And this also,' said Marlow suddenly, 'has been one of the dark places of the earth.'


Joseph Conrad, The Heart of Darkness

 

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