Читать книгу The Golden Treasury - Unknown - Страница 95

     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,

     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 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 approach with eye or hand

     These sacred cherries to come nigh,

     —Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry!