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
6 comments:
Sometimes I am embarrsaed to admit it, but the art you have chosen here is simply lovely. It is so beautifully painted.
Oh, my husband teases me about my predilection for the Pre-Raphaelites, especially William Waterhouse.
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
Thank you, Marie! I have loved this picture for a long time.
+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.
Thank you, Enbrethiliel! We all need more poetry in our lives!
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