W Oh, that he would kiss me with the kisses of his mouth!
For your love is more delightful than wine.

Draw me; we will run after thee: The king hath brought me into his chambers; We will be glad and rejoice in thee; We will make mention of thy love more than of wine: Rightly do they love thee.

How beautiful are thy caresses, my sister, bride, - how much more delightful thy caresses, than wine, and the fragrance of thine oils, than all spices:

What is thy beloved more than another beloved, Thou fairest among women? What is thy beloved more than another beloved, That thou dost so charge us?

Turn again, turn again, O thou Shulamite; turn again, turn again, that we may look upon thee. What pleasure have ye more in the Shulamite, than when she danceth among the men of war?