Shakespeare

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 
    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.