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English Poetry william blake London
I walk on every licensed street,
Near where the chartered Thames flows,
Every face I meet has a mark,
A sign of weakness, a sign of sadness
In everyone's every cry,
In every baby's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
What I hear is the shackles forged by the mind:
The chimney sweeper is crying.
Every blackened church is frightening,
And the sigh of the hapless soldier
Flowing on the walls of the palace.
But most of the time, in the street at midnight, I heard
The curse of young prostitutes
Blow up the tears of the newborn baby,
Destroy the wedding car with plague.
William blake London
I want to cross every concession street, I walk every exclusive street,
Close to the place where the chartered Thames flows, stroll along the exclusive Thames,
Every face I meet has a mark, and I see every passerby.
A sign of weakness, a sign of sadness Have a weak and painful face.
In every cry of everyone, in every cry of everyone,
Every baby's scared cry, every baby's scared cry,
Every voice, every ban, every sentence, every ban,
I heard the shackles cast by thought: everyone is troubled by the shackles cast by thought.
How many children's cries swept the chimney?
Every blackened church shocked the blackened church.
And the sigh of the unhappy soldier
Flowing on the walls of the palace. Turned into blood and flowed down the palace wall.
But most of the time, through the midnight streets, I hear the streets that are most afraid of midnight.
The curse of young prostitutes and listen to the curse of young prostitutes!
Exploded the tears of newborns and shocked the tears of newborn children.
Light up the wedding car with square lights. The wedding car was destroyed by the plague again.