I am black, but comely, O daughters of Jerusalem, like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon.

I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, by the gazelles, and by the does of the field, do not stir up or awake my Love until He please.

I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, by the gazelles, and by the does of the field, do not stir up nor awake my love until it pleases.

He made its poles of silver, its back gold, its seat of purple, its middle was paved with love by the daughters of Jerusalem.

I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my Beloved, what do you tell Him? That I am sick with love.

His mouth is most sweet; yes, He is altogether lovely. This is my Beloved, and this is my Friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.

O my love, you are as beautiful as Tirzah, as lovely as Jerusalem, as inspiring as an army with banners.

I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, why should you stir up or awaken my Love until it pleases?