How delightful your love is, my sister, my bride.
Your love is much better than wine,
and the fragrance of your perfume than any balsam.

SHEAwake, O north wind, and come in, thou south, Fan my garden - its balsams, will flow out, - Let my beloved enter his garden, and eat his precious fruits.

HEI have entered my garden, my sister, bride, I have plucked my myrrh, with my balsam, I have eaten the honey of my thicket, I have drunk my wine, with my milk: - Eat ye, O friends, Drink, yea drink abundantly, ye beloved!

His cheeks, like a raised bed of balsam, growing plants of perfume, - His lips, lilies, dripping with myrrh distilling:

SHEMy beloved, is gone down to his garden, to the beds of balsam, - to pasture in the gardens, and to gather lilies,

SHECome quickly, my beloved, and resemble thou a gazelle, or a young stag, upon the mountains of balsam-trees.