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.