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...CROSSING THE PLAINS by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER DEAD IN THE SIERRAS by CINCINNATUS HEINE MILLER THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 78. BODY'S BEAUTY by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI MONICA'S LAST PRAYER by MATTHEW ARNOLD SLUMBER FAIRIES by KATHARINE LEE BATES |