THERE is a garden in her face, Where roses and white lilies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; There cherries grow that 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 rosebuds filled with snow; Yet them no peer nor prince may 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 approach 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...BEARS AT RASPBERRY TIME by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE LEAVES by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE LITANY OF THE DARK PEOPLE by COUNTEE CULLEN THE SMALL SELF AND THE LIBERAL SELF by JAMES GALVIN TO MAY HOWARD JACKSON - SCULPTOR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BETRAND AND GOURGAUD TALK OVER OLD TIMES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |