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, shouldér 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 ór sank—,
Though as a beechbole firm, finds his, as at a rollcall, 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 quáil to the wallowing o' the plough. 'S cheek crímsons; curls
Wag or crossbridle, in a wind lifted, windlaced—°
Churlsgrace too, chíld of Amansstrength, how it hángs 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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