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

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

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1650

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