As a piece of pomegranate thy temples from behind thy veil.

They are sixty queens, and eighty concubines, and maidens no number.

She is one, my dove, my perfect one; she is one to her mother, she is the chosen to her bearing her. The daughters saw her and pronounced her happy; the queens and the concubines, and they will praise her.

Turn back, turn back, thou Shulamite; turn back, turn back, and we will look upon thee. What will ye see in the Shulamite? As the stringed instrument of the camps.

Who this looking forth as the morning, beautiful as the moon, clear as the sun, a terror as those being furnished with banners?

I went down into the garden of nuts to look upon the greens of the valley, to see whether the vine was fruitful, whether the pomegranates blossomed.

I knew not my soul set me the chariots of my willing people.

Where went thy beloved, O beautiful one among women? where turned away thy beloved, and we will seek him with thee.

I to my beloved, and my beloved to me: he feeding among the lilies.

Thou art beautiful my friend, as delight; becoming as Jerusalem, a terror as those being furnished with banners.

Turn away thine eyes from before me; they enlarged me: thy hair as a herd of goats which lay down from Gilead.

My beloved went down to his garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies.

Thy teeth as a herd of sheep which went up from the washing, all of them bearing twins, and none barren among them.