Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.

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

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

I rose up to open to my beloved: and my hands dropped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet-smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.

His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black as a raven.

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