The poem
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. . . . . . . .