Shakespeare

UNSEEN in the great minister dome of time,
    Whose shafts are centuries, its spangled roof
        The vaulted universe, our master sits,
And organ-voices like a far-off chime
        Roll thro' the aisles of thought. The sunlight flits
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    From arch to arch, and, as he sits aloof,
Kings, heroes, priests, in concourse vast, sublime,
        Glances of love and cries from battle-field,
    His wizard power breathes on the living air.
Warm faces gleam and pass, child, woman, man,
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        In the long multitude; but he, concealed,
Our bard eludes us, vainly each face we scan,
    It is not he; his features are not there;
        But, being thus hid, his greatness is revealed.