There is a garden in her face <br /> Where roses and white lilies grow; <br /> A heav'nly paradise is that place <br /> Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow. <br /> There cherries grow which none may buy, <br /> Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry. <br /> <br /> Those cherries fairly do enclose <br /> Of orient pearl a double row, <br /> Which when her lovely laughter shows, <br /> They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow; <br /> Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy, <br /> Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry. <br /> <br /> Her eyes like angels watch them still, <br /> Her brows like bended bows do stand, <br /> Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill <br /> All that attempt with eye or hand <br /> Those sacred cherries to come nigh, <br /> Till 'Cherry ripe' themselves do cry.<br /><br />Thomas Campion<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/there-is-a-garden-in-her-face/
