For washed in life's river, My bright mane forever Shall shine like the gold As Iguard o'er the fold. - William Blake

London

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 blackning 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.

Time is the mercy of Eternity; without Time's swiftness Which is the swiftest of all things, all were eternal torment.

As the air to a bird or the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptible.