It was but a little after I passed by 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 that conceived me.

My dove, my perfect one, is the only one; she is the only one of her mother, she is the favorite one of her that bore her. The daughters saw her, and blessed her; yea, the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.

Who is this that comes up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved? I awakened you under the apple tree: there your mother brought you forth: there she brought you forth that bore you.

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