Shakespeare

A vision as of crowded city streets,

      With human life in endless overflow;

      Thunder of thoroughfares; trumpets that blow

      To battle; clamor, in obscure retreats,

Of sailors landed from their anchored fleets;

      Tolling of bells in turrets, and below

      Voices of children, and bright flowers that throw

      O'er garden-walls their intermingled sweets!

This vision comes to me when I unfold

      The volume of the Poet paramount,

      Whom all the Muses loved, not one alone; —

Into his hands they put the lyre of gold,

      And, crowned with sacred laurel at their fount,

      Placed him as Musagetes on their throne.