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Harry Ploughman

 Hard as hurdle arms, with a broth of goldish flue
Breathed round; the rack of ribs; the scooped flank; lank
Rope-over thigh; knee-nave; and barrelled shank—
 Head and foot, shoulder and shank—
By a grey eye's heed steered well, one crew, fall to;
Stand at stress.
Each limb's barrowy brawn, his thew That onewhere curded, onewhere sucked or sank— Soared or sank—, Though as a beechbole firm, finds his, as at a roll-call, rank And features, in flesh, what deed he each must do— His sinew-service where do.
He leans to it, Harry bends, look.
Back, elbow, and liquid waist In him, all quail to the wallowing o' the plough: 's cheek crimsons; curls Wag or crossbridle, in a wind lifted, windlaced— See his wind- lilylocks -laced; Churlsgrace, too, child of Amansstrength, how it hangs or hurls Them—broad in bluff hide his frowning feet lashed! raced With, along them, cragiron under and cold furls— With-a-fountain's shining-shot furls.

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