Dikt; There Is A Garden In Her Face av Thomas Campion
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies
grow;
A heav'nly 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
Those sacred cherries to
come nigh,
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