Verse > Anthologies > Francis T. Palgrave, ed. > The Golden Treasury
Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury.  1875.
XCI. 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 grow; 
There cherries grow that none may buy,         5
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;  10
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, 
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill  15
  All that approach with eye or hand 
These sacred cherries to come nigh, 
Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry! 

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