Classic Poetry

There Is A Garden In Her Face

by Thomas Campion

1 There is a garden in her face
2 Where roses and white lilies grow;
3 A heav'nly paradise is that place
4 Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow.
5 There cherries grow which none may buy,
6 Till "Cherry ripe" themselves do cry.

7 Those cherries fairly do enclose
8 Of orient pearl a double row,
9 Which when her lovely laughter shows,
10 They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
11 Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy,
12 Till "Cherry ripe" themselves do cry.

13 Her eyes like angels watch them still,
14 Her brows like bended bows do stand,
15 Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
16 All that attempt with eye or hand
17 Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
18 Till "Cherry ripe" themselves do cry.

Classic Poetry

There Is A Garden In Her Face

by Thomas Campion

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