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.