On Receiving a Laurel Crown from Leigh Hunt

Minutes are flying swiftly, and as yet

   Nothing unearthly has enticed my brain

   Into a delphic labyrinth. I would fain

Catch an immortal thought to pay the debt

I owe to the kind poet who has set

   Upon my ambitious head a glorious gain.

   Two bending laurel sprigs—'tis nearly pain

To be conscious of such a coronet.

Still time is fleeting, and no dream arises

   Gorgeous as I would have it; only I see

A trampling down of what the world most prizes,

   Turbans and crowns and blank regality—

And then I run into most wild surmises

   Of all the many glories that may be.