Frank J. Wilstach, comp. A Dictionary of Similes. 1916.
Cheeks as brown as oak leaves.
Cheek as the blood of the dragon bright.
The down on his cheeks dispread like myrtles springing from the heart of a bright red rose.
Cheeks like blood-red anemones.
John Bull looked ruddy and plump, with a pair of cheeks like a trumpeter.
Upon her tender cheek the mingled dye is scattered, of the lily and the rose.
Checks, like men who live, and draw the vital air.
The blood within her crystal cheekes did such a colour drive,
As though the lillye and the rose for mastership did strive.
Her cheeks like living roses glow.
Cheeks as soft as July peaches.
—William Cox Bennett
Her bright cheek, as soft and pure in its bloom as a wild rose.
Cheeks full and swollen, like a ploughboy’s.
Her cheek like the spray o’ th’ sea.
Cheeks as brown as sun could kiss them.
Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud that beautifies Aurora’s face.
There’s a mantling flush that dwells in his cheeks,
Like a roseleaf thrown on the snow.
With a cheek like a burning rose.
Like a rose set in snow was the bloom on her cheek.
Her glowing cheeks like youthful Hebe’s fair.
A blooming pair of vermeil cheeks, like Hebe’s in her ruddiest hours.
Your cheeks of late are like bad printed books,
So dimly charactered, I scarce can spell
One line of love in them.
Her cheeks were like the roses red.
The frighted blood
Scarce yet recalled to her pale cheeks,
Like the first streaks of light broke loose from darkness,
And dawning into blushes.
Cheeks pearly as those of Pallas of Virgil.
—Alexandre Dumas, père
A cheek like an apple-blossom.
Lovely her cheeks were, like berries red.
Her cheeks are as red as the rose’s sheen.
—Sir Samuel Ferguson
His cheek is like the rose of spring.
Cheek crimsoned like the bloom of the pomegranate.
Her cheeks, as snowy apples sopt in wines.
Cheeks are as round and as red as a cherry.
That human, humorous mouth; those cheeks [Lincoln’s] that hold
Like some harsh landscape all the summer’s gold.
—Richard Watson Gilder
Cheeks like the rose on a bed of snow.
—Alfred Perceval Graves
A cheek wherein for interchange of hue
A wrangling strife ’twixt lily and the rose.
Her cheeks, like rose and lily yield forth gleams.
Her cheeks like ripened lilies steeped in wine,
Or fair pomegranate kernels washed in milk,
Or snow-white threads in nests of crimson silk,
Or gorgeous clouds upon the sun’s decline.
Cheeks that shamed the rose.
Cheeks like creame enclairited.
Cheeks like roses when they blow.
Cheeks as ripe as apples.
Her cheeks like winter apples red of hue.
Cheeks as pink as a seashell.
Cheeks for all the world like a roseberry ice upon a ground of custard.
Her cheek was as a rainbow, it so changed,
As each emotion o’er its surface ranged.
—Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud,
That beautifies Aurora’s face;
Or like the silver crimson shroud,
That Phœbus’ smiling looks doth grace.
Cheeks like the dawn of day.
—Henry W. Longfellow
Your cheeks are roses fair yet pink.
Cheek was wan as clay.
—William J. Mickle
Her cheek was as white and cold as clay.
—Winthrop Mackworth Praed
Cheeks like peaches.
—Francis S. Saltus
Cheeks like Punic apples are.
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp.
Had wet their cheeks, like trees bedashed with rain.
Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath rudded.
His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers.
His cheeks, as roses red, as lilies fair.
Her cheeks are as the fading stain
Where the peach reddens to the south.
Her cheek was like the moist heart of a rose.
—N. P. Willis
Cheeks were red as ruddy clover.