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Editor's Selection of Poems
The Vine

by Robert Herrick

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 is mine 
More like a stock than like a vine.
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