There Is A Garden In Her Face, Where Roses And White Lilies Grow; A Heavenly Paradise Is That Place, Wherein All Pleasant Fruits Do Flow. These 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 Nor 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, Threatening With Piercing Frowns To Kill All That Attempt With Eye Or Hand Those Sacred Cherries To Come Nigh, Till "Cherry-Ripe" Themselves Do Cry.