THERE is a garden in her face, Where roses and white lilies grow; 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 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, Threatening with piercing frowns to kill All that attempt with eye or hand These sacred cherries to come nigh-- Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SEMANTICS OF FLOWERS ON MEMORIAL DAY by BOB HICOK TO GOD THE FATHER by KATHERINE MANSFIELD SPAIN IN AMERICA by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE UNIVERSITY OF GOTTINGEN by GEORGE CANNING THE MARCH BEE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 104. WRITTEN AT FLORENCE: 2 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |