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 
Every black'ning Church appalls, 
And the hapless Soldier's 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. 

(Excerpt from "AMERICA") 

Rise and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are 
open; 
And let his wife and children return from the opressor's 
scourge. 
They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream, 
Singing: "The Sun has left his blackness, and has found a fresher 
morning, 
And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night; 
For Empire is no more, and now the Lion and Wolf shall 
cease."