Lyrical Poems
92. CHERRY RIPE

Robert Her

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Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry,

Full and fair ones; come, and buy:

If so be you ask me where

They do grow? I answer, there

Where my Julia's lips do smile;—

There's the land, or cherry-isle;

Whose plantations fully show

All the year where cherries grow.

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