My beloved is like to a roe, Or to a young one of the harts. Lo, this -- he is standing behind our wall, Looking from the windows, Blooming from the lattice.

Till the day doth break forth, And the shadows have fled away, Turn, be like, my beloved, To a roe, or to a young one of the harts, On the mountains of separation!

Who is this coming up from the wilderness, Like palm-trees of smoke, Perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, From every powder of the merchant?

Go forth, and look, ye daughters of Zion, On king Solomon, with the crown, With which his mother crowned him, In the day of his espousals, And in the day of the joy of his heart!

Come from Lebanon, come thou in. Look from the top of Amana, From the top of Shenir and Hermon, From the habitations of lions, From the mountains of leopards.

I rose to open to my beloved, And my hands dropped myrrh, Yea, my fingers flowing myrrh, On the handles of the lock.

Unto a garden of nuts I went down, To look on the buds of the valley, To see whither the vine had flourished, The pomegranates had blossomed --

Return, return, O Shulammith! Return, return, and we look upon thee. What do ye see in Shulammith?

This thy stature hath been like to a palm, And thy breasts to clusters.

The companions are attending to thy voice, Cause me to hear. Flee, my beloved, and be like to a roe,