There is a garden in her face Where roses and white lilies blow;

A heavenly 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 filled with snow;

Yet them no peer or prince can buy,  Till “Cherry -ripe” themselves do cry.

                           -“Cherry-Ripe” by Thomas Campion (1900)