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 Infant’s cry of fear, In every voice: in every ban, The mind-forg’d manacles I hear.

How the Chimney-sweeper’s cry These are the great evils. And the hapless Soldier’s sigh, From the camp or mortuary.

But the path of the best, And the worst are but one road, As we must reconcile all that is lost.

• William Blake