I say to you, O daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes of the field, do not let love be moved till it is ready.

Till the evening comes, and the sky slowly becomes dark, come, my loved one, and be like a roe on the mountains of Bether.

I was but a little way from them, when I came face to face with him who is the love of my soul. I took him by the hands, and did not let him go, till I had taken him into my mother's house, and into the room of her who gave me birth.

I say to you, O daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes of the field, let not love be moved till it is ready.

Till the evening comes, and the sky slowly becomes dark, I will go to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense.

You are tall like a palm-tree, and your breasts are like the fruit of the vine.

I say to you, O daughters of Jerusalem, do not let love be moved till it is ready.