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)