CHERRY-RIPE
by: Thomas Campion (1567?-1619)
- HERE 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 pearls a double row,
- Which when her lovely laughter shows,
- They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
- Yet them nor 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.
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POEMS BY THOMAS CAMPION |
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