More like a stock than like a vine.

The Vine by Robert Herrick.  Herrick was both an Anglican cleric and a poet in the 17th century.  They regrettably don't make Anglican or Episcopalian clerics like they used to do.  

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 of mine

More like a stock than like a vine.