The Song of Songs, that is Solomon's.

But a little I passed on from them, Till I found him whom my soul hath loved! I seized him, and let him not go, Till I brought him in unto the house of my mother -- And the chamber of her that conceived me.

Lo, his couch, that is Solomon's, Sixty mighty ones are around it, Of the mighty of Israel,

Lo, thou art fair, my friend, lo, thou art fair, Thine eyes are doves behind thy veil, Thy hair as a row of the goats That have shone from mount Gilead,

Thy teeth as a row of the shorn ones That have come up from the washing, For all of them are forming twins, And a bereaved one is not among them.

Thy two breasts are as two fawns, Twins of a roe, that are feeding among lilies.

I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, If ye find my beloved -- What do ye tell him? that I am sick with love!

What is thy beloved above any beloved, O fair among women? What is thy beloved above any beloved, That thus thou hast adjured us?

Turn round thine eyes from before me, Because they have made me proud. Thy hair is as a row of the goats, That have shone from Gilead,

Thy teeth as a row of the lambs, That have come up from the washing, Because all of them are forming twins, And a bereaved one is not among them.

One is my dove, my perfect one, One she is of her mother, The choice one she is of her that bare her, Daughters saw, and pronounce her happy, Queens and concubines, and they praise her.

Who is this that is looking forth as morning, Fair as the moon -- clear as the sun, Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts?'

Who is this coming from the wilderness, Hasting herself for her beloved? Under the citron-tree I have waked thee, There did thy mother pledge thee, There she gave a pledge that bare thee.

We have a little sister, and breasts she hath not, What do we do for our sister, In the day that it is told of her?