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 belly, buttocks, and her waist
By my soft nervelets were embraced.
About her head I writhing hung,
And with rich clusters (hid among
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.
Robert Herrick, 1648
Isn't that always the way with dreams? You wake up just when you get to the good bits.
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A place for poetry and other musings
3 comments:
hmmmm
This may be the first poetic description of nocturnal penile tumescence. ;)
Wow, you can make anything sound poetic, can't you? :P
LOL
Like I was saying, I considered carefully what I was going to say.
The poem does have beautiful imagery.
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