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James Henry Leigh Hunt - On Receiving A Crown Of Ivy From John Keats
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A Crown of of ivy! I submit my head
To the young hand that gives it, --young, `tis true,
But with a right, for `tis a poet`s too.
How pleasant the leaves feel! and how they spread
With their broad angles, like a nodding shed 
Over both eyes! and how complete and new,
As on my hand I lean, to feel them strew
My sense with freshness, -- Fancy`s rustling bed!
Tress-tossing girls, with smell of flowers and grapes
Come dancing by, and downward piping cheeks,
And up-thrown cymbals, and Silenus old
Lumpishly borne, and many trampling shapes,--
And lastly, with his bright eyes on her bent,
Bacchus, -- whose bride has of his hand fast hold.
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