I Dreamt This Mortal Part Of Mine Was Metamorphos'D To A Vine; Which Crawling One And Every Way Enthrall'D 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 Nerv'Lets 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 Ravish'D 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 Unespy'D, 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.