Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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.