Henry Wadsworth 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.