O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the cliff, let me see your face, let me hear your voice; for sweet is your voice, and your countenance is lovely.

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.

Behold, you are fair, my love; behold, you are fair; you have doves' eyes behind your veil: your hair is like a flock of goats, going down from mount Gilead.

Turn away your eyes from me, for they have overcome me: your hair is as a flock of goats going down from Gilead.

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.

Your head crowns you like Carmel, and the hair of your head is like purple; the king is held captive by your tresses.

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.

You that dwell in the gardens, the companions listen for your voice: let me hear it.