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.