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.