La Béatrice (Beatrice) by Charles Baudelaire.

I wandered lonely as a Cloud by Wm. Wordsworth

London by Wm. Blake

In reverse chronological order, and I should start, and finish by declaring that Blake’s London is probably the greatest poem written in English, an astonishing performance of economy and simplicity, of situation and relentless affect. There is no loss of immediacy; the opposite: things are too immediate. Wandering, picked up by Wordsworth less than 10 years later, is forcibly cheerful but at what cost!: people. In Blake, the sounds the calls the sensual all of his persona ties always to people, and without metaphor or translational escape. Baudelaire, nods to  Blake, refutes Wordsworth, and all the poetic license of self indulgence, to imagine that in the sight and sound of isolated memory there were not always people.

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