As a thread of scarlet are thy lips, And thy speech is comely, As the work of the pomegranate is thy temple behind thy veil,

My beloved sent his hand from the net-work, And my bowels were moved for him.

His hands are as rings of gold set with beryl: His body is as ivory work overlaid with'sapphires.

As the work of the pomegranate is thy temple behind thy veil.

How beautiful are thy feet with shoes, O prince's daughter! the joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning workman.

If she is a wall, we build by her a palace of silver. And if she is a door, We fashion by her board-work of cedar.