As I'm sure you know (and have planned on the last two months), today is International Read Poetry to someone you Love Day. If you click on the link you'll get plenty of ideas.
Last night I was getting an early start, and I read Robert Herrick's "The Vine" allowed to someone. I did this having never actually read the poem myself, and having no idea what it was about.
At first it just seemed like straight-foward metaphor; no big deal. Maybe even a little quaint, in that "must have been interesting way back when" sort of way.
THEN I GOT TO THE END
I literally said, "Whoa!"
Suddenly everything changed, and I realized I had not been reading this right. Do yourself a favor: without reading the poem, start reading it aloud to anyone sitting nearby. You'll be glad you did.
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 belley, buttocks, and her waist
By my soft nervelets were embraced
About her head I writhing hung
And with rich clusters (hid Amoung
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.