Cherry-Ripe

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 fill'd 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,

Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill

All that attempt with eye or hand