Your teeth are like a flock of sheep about to be sheared, who are coming up from being washed. All of them are twins, not one has lost her young.

Your teeth are like a flock of ewes coming up from being washed. All of them are twins, not one has lost her young.

but my dove, my perfect one, is unique. She's unique to her mother, she's pure to the one who gave birth to her. Young women see her and call her blessed, queens and mistresses praise her.

Who is this coming up from the desert, leaning on her beloved? Under theapple tree I awakened you. There your mother had gone into labor with you; there she went into labor and gave birth to you.

We have a little sister, and she has not yet reached maturity. What will we do for our sister to prepare her for her engagement?

If she's a wall, on her we will build a battlement of silver. If she's a door, we will enclose her with planks of cedar.