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 can 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 fill'd with snow;
Yet them no peer nor prince may buy,
Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brow like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that approach with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.
thought may like to read as
search asking about Cherries.
and it's book's punctuation.
this is 2nd hand book dusty,over 70 years old.
by THOMAS CAMPION.
