Tell me, thou loved of my soul! Where wilt thou pasture thy flock? Where wilt thou let them recline at noon? For why should I be as one that wrappeth a veil about her, by the flocks of thy companions?

Come! I must arise, and go about in the city, In the paths and in the broadways, I must seek the beloved of my soul, - I sought him, but found him not.

Thy navel, is a round bowl, may it not lack spiced wine! Thy body, a heap of wheat fenced about with lilies;