Thy cheeks are comely with plaits [of hair], thy neck with strings of jewels.

The fig tree ripens her green figs, and the vines are in blossom. They give forth their fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

O my dove, who are in the clefts of the rock, in the covert of the steep place, let me see thy countenance; let me hear thy voice. For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

It was but a little that I passed from them when I found him whom my soul loves. I held him, and would not let him go until I had brought him into my mother's house, and into the chamber of her who conceived me.

Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome me. Thy hair is as a flock of goats that lay along the side of Gilead.

My dove, my undefiled, is [but] one. She is the only one of her mother. She is the choice one of her who bore her. The daughters saw her, and called her blessed, [yea], the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.

Thy head upon thee is like Carmel, and the hair of thy head like purple. The king is held captive in the tresses.

Who is this who comes up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved? Under the apple tree I awoke thee. There thy mother was in travail with thee. There she who brought thee forth was in travail.

If she is a wall, we will build upon her a turret of silver. And if she is a door, we will enclose her with boards of cedar.

Thou who dwell in the gardens, the companions hearken for thy voice. Cause me to hear it.