William Blake

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-sweepers cry
Every blacknng Church appalls.
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls

But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlots curse
Blasts the new born Infants tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse

I just turned on the BBC and heard that Margret Thacher died. It seems appropriate that London should be the poem that I’d prepared for today, especially with lines like “And the hapless Soldiers sigh / Runs in blood down Palace walls.” However I did feel that I should provide a link just so we can remember her in context. Here’s a link to the album Let’s Start a War by The Exploited on YouTube.

I don’t usually like to edit my posts after I’ve hit the little publish button, but today there seems to be so much more to say, or at least to open this up for some other comments from some people who lived through the Thacher government. Here’s Billy Bragg, and here’s Morrissey, and Elvis Costello.

And then there’s this…


One thought on “London

  1. Pingback: The Parable of the Old Man and the Young Man | Uncle Frog

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