Maro Itoje rolls his eyes as soon as poetry is mentioned. "Here we go again,” he sighs. Ever since he produced his debut piece of verse, as 24th man for Saracens en route to a game at Newcastle, he has found himself labelled as rugby’s ultimate troubadour.

The fact that his combined output amounts to four poems, perhaps five, is no barrier to the fascination. “It has been a little bit overplayed,” he says, with a shy smile. “People make it seem as if I’m William Wordsworth. I wouldn’t mind, if I had those skills.”

One composition, entitled There Comes a Time, a meditation on the coming of age that the 22-year-old has experienced in the public glare, has drawn particular attention. Might he be tempted to pen another? “I think I’ve got enough on my plate at the moment. Maybe in a couple of years, if I’m alone in a hotel room.”

If Itoje sounds shy, it is because he is a fiercely protected property. He rarely grants interviews, ever since Eddie Jones, the England head coach, effectively imposed a gagging order during last year’s Six Nations. “I want Itoje to be a great rugby player and I don’t want him built up to be a headline before he’s a headline,” the Australian said, irritably. “I’m taking a duty of care with him. He doesn’t deserve media exposure – he has done nothing yet. Nothing.”