Thomas Campion (Томас Кэмпион)

Cherry-Ripe

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 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,
Till “Cherry-ripe” themselves do cry.

1. Fire That Must Flame Is with Apt Fuel Fed
2. To Music Bent Is My Retired Mind
3. Shall I Come, Sweet Love to Thee
4. Amaryllis
5. Follow Your Saint

Robert Herrick (Роберт Геррик (Херрик)) Cherry-Ripe ("CHERRY-RIPE, ripe, ripe, I cry")

Распечатать (Print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1407

Последние стихотворения

To English version