The furl of fresh-leaved dogrose down 
His cheeks the forth-and-flaunting sun 
Had swarthed about with lion-brown 
Before the Spring was done. 

His locks like all a ravel-rope?s-end,
With hempen strands in spray? 
Fallow, foam-fallow, hanks?fall?n off their ranks, 
Swung down at a disarray. 

Or like a juicy and jostling shock 
Of bluebells sheaved in May
Or wind-long fleeces on the flock 
A day off shearing day. 

Then over his turnèd temples?here? 
Was a rose, or, failing that, 
Rough-Robin or five-lipped campion clear
For a beauty-bow to his hat, 
And the sunlight sidled, like dewdrops, like dandled diamonds 
Through the sieve of the straw of the plait.
. . . . . . .