There Is a Garden in Her Face

There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heav'nly 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 rosebuds 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 approach with eye or hand
These sacred cherries to come nigh
Till "Cherry ripe", themselves do cry