Sitting Alone, As One Forsook, Close By A Silver-Shedding Brook, With Hands Held Up To Love, I Wept; And After Sorrows Spent I Slept: Then In A Vision I Did See A Glorious Form Appear To Me: A Virgin'S Face She Had; Her Dress Was Like A Sprightly Spartaness. A Silver Bow, With Green Silk Strung, Down From Her Comely Shoulders Hung: And As She Stood, The Wanton Air Dangled The Ringlets Of Her Hair. Her Legs Were Such Diana Shows When, Tucked Up, She A-Hunting Goes; With Buskins Shortened To Descry The Happy Dawning Of Her Thigh: Which When I Saw, I Made Access To Kiss That Tempting Nakedness: But She Forbade Me With A Wand Of Myrtle She Had In Her Hand: And, Chiding Me, Said: Hence, Remove, Herrick, Thou Art Too Coarse To Love.