24 lines
754 B
Plaintext
24 lines
754 B
Plaintext
THOMAS CAMPION
|
|
Cherry-Ripe
|
|
|
|
There is a garden in her face
|
|
Where roses and white lilies blow;
|
|
A heavenly paradise is that place,
|
|
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:
|
|
There cherries grow which none may buy
|
|
Till Cherry-ripe themselves do cry.
|
|
|
|
Those cherries fairly do enclose
|
|
Of orient pearl a double row,
|
|
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
|
|
They look like rose-buds filled with snow;
|
|
Yet them no peer nor prince can buy
|
|
Till Cherry-ripe themselves do cry.
|
|
|
|
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
|
|
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
|
|
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
|
|
All that attempt with eye or hand
|
|
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
|
|
Till Cherry-ripe themselves do cry.
|