What though, for showing truth to flattered state,
Kind Hunt was shut in Prison, yet has he,
In his immortal spirit, been as free
As the sky-searching lark, and as elate
Minion of grandeur! think you he did wait?
Think you he nought but prison walls did see,
Till, so unwilling, thou unturn'dst the key?
Ah no! far happier, nobler was his fate!
In Spenser's halls he strayed, and bowers fair,
Culling enchanted flowers; and he flew
With daring Milton through the fields of air:
Tio regions of his own his genius true
Took happy flights. Who shall his flame impair
When thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew?

An explanation of Keats's relationship with Mr. Leigh Hunt, Esq, lies here.