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.