The Furl of Fresh-Leaved Dogrose Down

 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 turn?d 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.

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