The Vine

I dreamed this mortal part of mine Was metamorphosed to a vine, Which, crawling one and every way, Enthralled my dainty Lucia. Methought, her long small legs and thighs I with my tendrils did surprise: Her belley, buttocks, and her waist By my soft nervelets were embraced About her head I writhing hung And with rich clusters (hid Amoung The leaves) her temples i behung, So that my Lucia seemed to me Young Bacchus ravished by his tree. My curls about her neck did crawl, ANd arms and hands they did enthrall, So that she could not freely stir ( All parts there made one prisoner). But when I crept with leaves to hide Those parts which maids keep unespied, Such fleeting pleasures there I took That with the fancy i awoke, And found (ah me!) this flesh of mine More like a stock than like a vine.