My dove, in clefts of the rock, In a secret place of the ascent, Cause me to see thine appearance, Cause me to hear thy voice, For thy voice is sweet, and thy appearance comely.

I said, I will ascend the palm-tree, I will lay hold of its fruit stalks - Oh then, let thy breasts, I pray thee, be like vine-clusters, And, the fragrance of thy nose, like apples;