I have compared thee, O my love, to a company of horses in Pharaoh's chariots.

My beloved is like to a roe, Or to a young one of the harts. Lo, this -- he is standing behind our wall, Looking from the windows, Blooming from the lattice.

Till the day doth break forth, And the shadows have fled away, Turn, be like, my beloved, To a roe, or to a young one of the harts, On the mountains of separation!

“I said ‘So I must arise now and go out into the city;
Into the streets and into the squares [places I do not know]
I must seek him whom my soul loves.’
I sought him but I did not find him.

This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.

We have a young sister, and she has no breasts; what are we to do for our sister in the day when she is given to a man?

The companions are attending to thy voice, Cause me to hear. Flee, my beloved, and be like to a roe,

Make haste, my beloved, and be thou like to a roe or to a young hart upon the mountains of spices.