THE VINE. by Robert Herrick I DREAM'D this mortal part of mine Was Metamorphoz'd to a Vine; Which crawling one and every way, Enthrall'd my dainty Lucia. Me thought, her long small legs & thighs I with my Tendrils did surprize; Her Belly, Buttocks, and her Waste By my soft Nerv'lits were embrac'd: About her head I writhing hung, And with rich clusters (hid among The leaves) her temples I behung: So that my Lucia seem'd to me Young Bacchus ravished by his tree. My curles about her neck did craule, And armes 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 unespy'd, Such fleeting pleasures there I took, That with the fancie I awook; And found (Ah me!) this flesh of mine More like a Stock then like a Vine.

Titian. Bacchus and Ariadne, detail. 1523-24.

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