The Lover to His Beloved: You are a locked garden, my sister, my bride; you are an enclosed spring, a sealed-up fountain.

I arose to open for my beloved; my hands dripped with myrrh -- my fingers flowed with myrrh on the handles of the lock.

Your head crowns you like Mount Carmel. The locks of your hair are like royal tapestries -- the king is held captive in its tresses!