Shakespeare by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow — Read

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.