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London and Composed Upon
London and Composed Upon
I wander thro' each charter'd street, Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow, Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
And mark in every face I meet A sight so touching in its majesty:
Marks of weakness, marks of woe. This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
In every cry of every Man, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
In every Infant’s cry of fear, Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
In every voice: in every ban, All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear: Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
How the Chimney-sweeper’s cry Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
Every black’ning Church appalls, The river glideth at his own sweet will:
And the hapless Soldier’s sigh Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
Runs in blood down Palace walls; And all that mighty heart is lying still!