The poem
I bended unto me a bough of May, That I might see and smell: It bore it in a sort of way, It bore it very well. But, when I let it backward sway, Then it were hard to tell With what a toss, with what a swing, The dainty thing Resumed its proper level, And sent me to the devil. I know it did--you doubt it? I turned, and saw them whispering about it.
The poem was written by Thomas Edward Brown, the Manx poet. Not Sir Thomas Browne - please amend your records. You need to take more care about the information you post.