the vine

The Vine
17th century poem by Robert Herrick, about a nighttime erection:
.

I dream'd this mortal part of mine

Was Metamorphoz'd to a Vine;

Which crawling one and every way

Enthralled 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 ravisht 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, than like a Vine.