The song of songs, which is Solomon's.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; For thy love is better than wine.

Thine ointments savour sweetly; Thy name is an ointment poured forth: Therefore do the virgins love thee.

I am black, but comely, daughters of Jerusalem, As the tents of Kedar, As the curtains of Solomon.

Tell me, thou whom my soul loveth, Where thou feedest thy flock, Where thou makest it to rest at noon; For why should I be as one veiled Beside the flocks of thy companions?

While the king is at his table, My spikenard sendeth forth its fragrance.

A bundle of myrrh is my beloved unto me; He shall pass the night between my breasts.

My beloved is unto me a cluster of henna-flowers In the vineyards of Engedi.

Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant; Also our bed is green.

As the lily among thorns, So is my love among the daughters.

As the apple-tree among the trees of the wood, So is my beloved among the sons: In his shadow have I rapture and sit down; And his fruit is sweet to my taste.

He hath brought me to the house of wine, And his banner over me is love.

His left hand is under my head, And his right hand doth embrace me.

My beloved is like a gazelle or a young hart. Behold, he standeth behind our wall, He looketh in through the windows, Glancing through the lattice.

For behold, the winter is past, The rain is over, it is gone:

The flowers appear on the earth; The time of singing is come, And the voice of the turtle-dove is heard in our land;

My dove, in the clefts of the rock, In the covert of the precipice, Let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

Take us the foxes, The little foxes, that spoil the vineyards; For our vineyards are in bloom.

My beloved is mine, and I am his; He feedeth his flock among the lilies,

Who is this, she that cometh up from the wilderness Like pillars of smoke, Perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, With all powders of the merchant? ...

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; Thine eyes are doves behind thy veil; Thy hair is as a flock of goats, On the slopes of mount Gilead.

Thy teeth are like a flock of shorn sheep, Which go up from the washing; Which have all borne twins, And none is barren among them.

Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, And thy speech is comely; As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples Behind thy veil.

Thy neck is like the tower of David, Built for an armoury: A thousand bucklers hang thereon, All shields of mighty men.

Thou art all fair, my love; And there is no spot in thee.

How fair is thy love, my sister, my spouse! How much better is thy love than wine! And the fragrance of thine ointments than all spices!

Thy lips, my spouse, drop as the honeycomb; Honey and milk are under thy tongue; And the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.

A garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse; A spring shut up, a fountain sealed.

I slept, but my heart was awake. The voice of my beloved! he knocketh: Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, mine undefiled; For my head is filled with dew, My locks with the drops of the night.

What is thy beloved more than another beloved, Thou fairest among women? What is thy beloved more than another beloved, That thou dost so charge us?

My beloved is white and ruddy, The chiefest among ten thousand.

His head is as the finest gold; His locks are flowing, black as the raven;

His cheeks are as a bed of spices, raised beds of sweet plants; His lips lilies, dropping liquid myrrh.

His hands gold rings, set with the chrysolite; His belly is bright ivory, overlaid with sapphires;

His legs, pillars of marble, set upon bases of fine gold: His bearing as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars;

His mouth is most sweet: Yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, yea, this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.

Whither is thy beloved gone, Thou fairest among women? Whither is thy beloved turned aside? And we will seek him with thee.

My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices, To feed in the gardens and to gather lilies.

I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine: He feedeth his flock among the lilies.

Thou art fair, my love, as Tirzah, Comely as Jerusalem, Terrible as troops with banners:

Turn away thine eyes from me, For they overcome me. Thy hair is as a flock of goats On the slopes of Gilead.

Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep Which go up from the washing; Which have all borne twins, And none is barren among them.

As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples Behind thy veil.

My dove, mine undefiled, is but one; She is the only one of her mother, She is the choice one of her that bore her. The daughters saw her, and they called her blessed; The queens and the concubines, and they praised her.

Who is she that looketh forth as the dawn, Fair as the moon, clear as the sun, Terrible as troops with banners?

Return, return, O Shulamite; Return, return, that we may look upon thee. What would ye look upon in the Shulamite? As it were the dance of two camps.

Thy navel is a round goblet, which wanteth not mixed wine; Thy belly a heap of wheat, set about with lilies;

Thy neck is as a tower of ivory; Thine eyes, like the pools in Heshbon, By the gate of Bath-rabbim; Thy nose like the tower of Lebanon, Which looketh toward Damascus;

Thy head upon thee is like Carmel, And the locks of thy head like purple; The king is fettered by thy ringlets!

This thy stature is like to a palm-tree, And thy breasts to grape clusters.

I am my beloved's, And his desire is toward me.

Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the fields; Let us lodge in the villages.

We will go up early to the vineyards, We will see if the vine hath budded, If the blossom is opening, And the pomegranates are in bloom: There will I give thee my loves.

Oh that thou wert as my brother, That sucked the breasts of my mother! Should I find thee without, I would kiss thee; And they would not despise me.

Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, Leaning upon her beloved? I awoke thee under the apple-tree: There thy mother brought thee forth; There she brought thee forth that bore thee.

Set me as a seal upon thy heart, As a seal upon thine arm: For love is strong as death; Jealousy is cruel as Sheol: The flashes thereof are flashes of fire, Flames of Jah.

I am a wall, and my breasts like towers; Then was I in his eyes as one that findeth peace.

My vineyard, which is mine, is before me: The thousand silver-pieces be to thee, Solomon; And to the keepers of its fruit, two hundred.