Thursday, May 24, 2007

My Sweet Rose



There is a garden in her face

Where roses and lillies 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 rose-buds 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,

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.


by Thomas Campion

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6 comments:

Terry Nelson said...

Sometimes I am embarrsaed to admit it, but the art you have chosen here is simply lovely. It is so beautifully painted.

elena maria vidal said...

Oh, my husband teases me about my predilection for the Pre-Raphaelites, especially William Waterhouse.

marie said...

Elena:)

I have a large print of this picture in my room. I loved it on sight and HAD to have it.

I agree with Terry you pick some amazing paintings and posters. It's one of the JOY's of visiting your blog.


In friendship,

Marie

elena maria vidal said...

Thank you, Marie! I have loved this picture for a long time.

Enbrethiliel said...

+JMJ+

I wholeheartedly agree. The way you put paintings and poetry together makes both come beautifully alive, Elena.

I was a Literature major at uni and an English teacher today; and I've acquired the bad habit of putting technique and theory before the simple pleasure of reading. Yet whenever you share a new poem with us, I have to pause, read it slowly, and really linger over the beauty of the words.

elena maria vidal said...

Thank you, Enbrethiliel! We all need more poetry in our lives!