Henry W. Longfellow

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.
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