Here are my favorite poems about cherries categorized:
- Short poems about cherries
- Famous poems about cherries
So if you want the best poems about cherries, then you’re in the right place.
Let’s jump right in!
Delectable Poems About Cherries
Get ready to savor the succulent world of cherries through a meticulously curated collection of mouthwatering poems.
Delight in the juicy sweetness of concise and tantalizing short poems that burst with flavor, while also relishing the famous poems that pay homage to the ruby gems of nature.
This delectable anthology invites you to indulge in the poetic feast of cherries, where each verse is a bite-sized treat that will leave you craving for more.
Keep reading and enjoy!
My #1 Favorite Poem About Cherries
“Loveliest of Trees” by Alfred Edward Housman
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
Short Poems About Cherries
“Cherry-Pit” by Robert Herrick
Julia and I did lately sit,
playing for sport at cherry-pit;
She threw; I cast; and, having thrown
I got the pit, she got the stone.
“Cherry-Ripe” by Richard Allison
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;
There cherries grow that 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 fill’d with snow;
Yet them no peer or prince may 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!
“A Cherry” by Unknown
As I went through the garden gap,
Who should I meet but Dick Red-cap!
A stick in his hand, a stone in his throat,–
If you’ll tell me this riddle, I’ll give you a groat.
“A Well, and the Cherry Trees Swaying” by Alexey K. Tolstoy
A well, and the cherry trees swaying
Where bare girlish feet trod the fruit;
Nearby the damp imprint betraying
The stamp of a heavy nailed boot.
Stilled now is the place of their meeting,
But nothing the silence avails:
In my brain passion’s echo repeating
Their whispers—the splash of the pails.
“Cherries” by Elizabeth Gordon
“Cherries are ripe,” said Old Blue Jay
As he flew by one August day;
“Why, he means us,” the Cherries cried,
“Perhaps we’d better go inside.”
“Bread and Cherries” by Walter De La Mare
‘Cherries, ripe cherries!’
The old woman cried,
In her snowy white apron,
And basket beside;
And the little boys came,
Eyes shining, cheeks red,
To buy a bag of cherries,
To eat with their bread.
“Cherry Ripe” by Robert Herrick
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.
“Cherry-Snows” by Clark Ashton Smith
The cherry-snows are falling now;
Down from the blossom-clouded sky
Of zephyr-troubled twig and bough,
In widely settling whirls they fly.
The orchard earth, unclothed and brown,
Is wintry-hued with petals bright;
E’en as the snow they glimmer down;
Brief as the snow’s their stainless white.
“Cherries Are Ripe” by Hilda Conkling
The cherry tree is red now;
Cherry tree nods his red head
And calls to the sun:
Let down the birds out of the sky;
Send home the birds to build nests in my arms,
For I am ready to feed them.
There is a little girl coming for cherries too . . .
(I am that little girl, I who am singing . . .)
She is coming with hair flying!
The butterflies will be going (says the cherry)
For it is getting dusk.
When it is dawn,
They will be up and out with the dew,
And sparkle as the dew does
On the tips of tall slender green grasses
Around my feet,
Or on the cheeks of fruit I have ripened,
Red cherries for birds
And children.
Famous Poems About Cherries
“The Crowns” by John Frederick Freeman
Cherry and pear are white,
Their snows lie sprinkled on the land like light
On darkness shed.
Far off and near
The orchards toss their crowns of delight,
And the sun casts down
Another shining crown.
The wind tears and throws down
Petal by petal the crown
Of cherry and pear till the earth is white,
And all the brightness is shed
In the orchards far off and near,
That tossed by the road and under the green hill;
And the wind is fled.
Far, far off the wind
Has shaken down
A brightness that was as the brightness of cherry or pear
When the orchards shine in the sun.
–Oh there is no more fairness
Since this rareness,
The radiant blossom of English earth–is dead!
“Freddie and the Cherry Tree” by Unknown
Freddie saw some fine ripe cherries
Hanging on a cherry-tree,
And he said, “You pretty cherries,
Will you not come down to me?”
“Thank you kindly,” said a cherry,
“We would rather stay up here;
If we ventured down this morning,
You would eat us up, I fear.”
One, the finest of the cherries,
Dangled from a slender twig;
“You are beautiful,” said Freddie,
“Red and ripe, and oh, how big!”
“Catch me,” said the cherry, “catch me,
Little master, if you can.”
“I would catch you soon,” said Freddie,
“If I were a grown-up man.”
Freddie jumped, and tried to reach it,
Standing high upon his toes;
But the cherry bobbed about,
And laughed, and tickled Freddie’s nose.
“Cherry-Time” by Robert von Ranke Graves
Cherries of the night are riper
Than the cherries pluckt at noon
Gather to your fairy piper
When he pipes his magic tune:
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
Under the moon.
And you’ll be fairies soon.
In the cherry pluckt at night,
With the dew of summer swelling,
There’s a juice of pure delight,
Cool, dark, sweet, divinely smelling.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
In the moonlight.
When I sound the fairy call,
Gather here in silent meeting,
Chin to knee on the orchard wall,
Cooled with dew and cherries eating.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter.
For the eater
When the dews fall.
And you’ll be fairies all.
“Precious Stones.” by Charles Stuart Calverley
My Cherrystones! I prize them,
No tongue can tell how much!
Each lady caller eyes them,
And madly longs to touch!
At eve I lift them down, I look
Upon them, and I cry;
Recalling how my Prince ‘partook’
(Sweet word!) of cherry-pie!
To me it was an Era
In life, that Dejeuner!
They ate, they sipp’d Madeira
Much in the usual way.
Many a soft item there would be,
No doubt, upon the carte:
But one made life a heaven to me:
It was the cherry-tart.
Lightly the spoonfuls enter’d
That mouth on which the gaze
Of ten fair girls was centred
In rapturous amaze.
Soon that august assemblage clear’d
The dish; and – as they ate –
The stones, all coyly, re-appear’d
On each illustrious plate.
And when His Royal Highness
Withdrew to take the air,
Waiving our natural shyness,
We swoop’d upon his chair.
Policemen at our garments clutch’d:
We mock’d those feeble powers;
And soon the treasures that had touch’d
Exalted lips were ours!
One large one – at the moment
It seem’d almost divine –
Was got by that Miss Beaumont:
And three, O three, are mine!
Yes! the three stones that rest beneath
Glass, on that plain deal shelf,
Stranger, once dallied with the teeth
Of Royalty itself.
Let Parliament abolish
Churches and States and Thrones:
With reverent hand I’ll polish
Still, still my Cherrystones!
A clod – a piece of orange-peel
An end of a cigar –
Once trod on by a Princely heel,
How beautiful they are!
Years since, I climb’d Saint Michael
His Mount:- you’ll all go there
Of course, and those who like’ll
Sit in Saint Michael’s Chair:
For there I saw, within a frame,
The pen – O heavens! the pen –
With which a Duke had sign’d his name,
And other gentlemen
“Great among geese,” I faltered,
“Is she who grew that quill!”
And, Deathless Bird, unalter’d
Is mine opinion still.
Yet sometimes, as I view my three
Stones with a thoughtful brow,
I think there possibly might be
E’en greater geese than thou.
“Cherry-Ripe” by Thomas Campion
There is a Garden in her face
Where Roses and white Lillies grow;
A heav’nly paradice is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits doe flow.
There Cherries grow, which none may buy,
Till _Cherry Ripe_ themselves doe cry.
Those Cherries fayrely doe enclose
Of Orient Pearle a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter showes,
They look like Rose-buds filled with snow.
Yet them nor Peere nor Prince can buy,
Till _Cherry Ripe_ themselves doe cry.
Her Eyes like Angels watch them still;
Her Browes like bended bowes doe stand,
Threat’ning with piercing frownes to kill
All that approach with eye or hand
These sacred Cherries to come nigh,
Till _Cherry Ripe_ themselves doe cry.
“Come to Me in Cherry-Time.” by George Pope Morris
Come to me in cherry-time,
And, as twilight closes,
We will have a merry time,
Here among the roses!
When the breezes crisp the tide,
And the lindens quiver,
In our bark we’ll safely glide
Down the rocky river!
When the stars, with quiet ray,
All the hill-tops brighten,
Cherry-ripe we’ll sing and play
Where the cherries ripen!
Then come to me in cherry-time,
And, as twilight closes,
We will have a merry time
Here among the roses.
“The Three Cherry Trees” by Walter De La Mare
There were three cherry trees once,
Grew in a garden all shady;
And there for delight of so gladsome a sight,
Walked a most beautiful lady,
Dreamed a most beautiful lady.
Birds in those branches did sing,
Blackbird and throstle and linnet,
But she walking there was by far the most fair –
Lovelier than all else within it,
Blackbird and throstle and linnet
But blossoms to berries do come,
All hanging on stalks light and slender,
And one long summer’s day charmed that lady away,
With vows sweet and merry and tender;
A lover with voice low and tender.
Moss and lichen the green branches deck;
Weeds nod in its paths green and shady:
Yet a light footstep seems there to wander in dreams,
The ghost of that beautiful lady,
That happy and beautiful lady.
“In the Lane” by John Frederick Freeman
The birds return,
The blossom brightens again the cherry bough.
The hedges are green again
In the airless lane,
And hedge and blossom and bird call, Now, now, now!
O birds, return!
Who will care if the blossom die on the bough,
Or the hedge be bare again
In the screaming lane?
For what they were these are not, are not now.
The one gone makes
All that remain seem strange and lonely now.
She will not walk here again
In the blossoming lane:–
And there’s a dead bough in every blossoming bough.
“The Cherries. A Parable.” by Thomas Moore
See those cherries, how they cover
Yonder sunny garden wall;–
Had they not that network over,
Thieving birds would eat them all.
So to guard our posts and pensions,
Ancient sages wove a net,
Thro’ whose holes of small dimensions
Only certain knaves can get.
Shall we then this network widen;
Shall we stretch these sacred holes,
Thro’ which even already slide in
Lots of small dissenting souls?
“God forbid!” old Testy crieth;
“God forbid!” so echo I;
Every ravenous bird that flieth
Then would at our cherries fly.
Ope but half an inch or so,
And, behold! what bevies break in;–
Here some curst old Popish crow
Pops his long and lickerish beak in;
Here sly Arians flock unnumbered,
And Socinians, slim and spare,
Who with small belief encumbered
Slip in easy anywhere;–
Methodists, of birds the aptest,
Where there’s pecking going on;
And that water-fowl, the Baptist–
All would share our fruits anon;
Every bird of every city,
That for years with ceaseless din,
Hath reverst the starling’s ditty,
Singing out “I can’t get in.”
“God forbid!” old Testy snivels;
“God forbid!” I echo too;
Rather may ten thousand devils
Seize the whole voracious crew
If less costly fruits won’t suit ’em,
Hips and haws and such like berries,
Curse the cormorants! stone ’em, shoot ’em,
Anything–to save our cherries.