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Cherry-Ripe

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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.

Source: The Oxford Book of English Verse, 1250-1900, edited by Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch. (1900)
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Cherry-Ripe

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