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.