“A garden locked is my sister, my bride,
A rock garden locked, a spring sealed up.

SHEI, was sleeping, but, my heart, was awake, - The voice of my beloved - knocking! Open to me, my sister, my fair one, my dove, my perfect one, for, my head, is filled with dew, my locks, with the moisture of the night.

His head, is pure gold, - his locks, are bushy, black as a raven;

I rose up to open to my beloved; And my hands dropped with myrrh, And my fingers with liquid myrrh, Upon the handles of the lock.

Thy head upon thee is like Carmel, And the locks of thy head like purple; The king is fettered by thy ringlets!

O how fair art thou, my love, how fair art thou? Thou hast doves' eyes, beside that which lieth hid within. Thy hairy locks are like the wool of a flock of goats that be shorn on Mount Gilead.

Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have set me on fire! Thy hairy locks are like a flock of goats upon the mount of Gilead.

Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks.

As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples within thy locks.