Behold, thou art fair, my love; Behold thou art fair; Thine eyes are as doves.

Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant: Also our couch is green.

O my dove, that art 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.

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

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

Thou art a fountain of gardens, A well of living waters, And flowing streams from Lebanon.

Thou art fair, O my love, as Tirzah, Comely as Jerusalem, Terrible as an army with banners.

How fair and how pleasant art thou, O love, for delights!

Oh that thou wert as my brother, That sucked the breasts of my mother! When I should find thee without, I would kiss thee; Yea, and none would despise me.