Let him kiss me with kisses of his mouth, For better are thy loves than wine.

For fragrance are thy perfumes good. Perfume emptied out -- thy name, Therefore have virgins loved thee!

Fear me not, because I am very dark, Because the sun hath scorched me, The sons of my mother were angry with me, They made me keeper of the vineyards, My vineyard -- my own -- I have not kept.

Declare to me, thou whom my soul hath loved, Where thou delightest, Where thou liest down at noon, For why am I as one veiled, By the ranks of thy companions?

Lo, thou art fair, my friend, Lo, thou art fair, thine eyes are doves!

Lo, thou art fair, my love, yea, pleasant, Yea, our couch is green,

The beams of our houses are cedars, Our rafters are firs, I am a rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys!

I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes or by the hinds of the field, Stir not up nor wake the love till she please!

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.

The flowers have appeared in the earth, The time of the singing hath come, And the voice of the turtle was heard in our land,

Seize ye for us foxes, Little foxes -- destroyers of vineyards, Even our sweet-smelling vineyards.

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!

The watchmen have found me, (Who are going round about the city), 'Him whom my soul have loved saw ye?'

I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes or by the hinds of the field, Stir not up nor wake the love till she please!

Lo, his couch, that is Solomon's, Sixty mighty ones are around it, Of the mighty of Israel,

Lo, thou art fair, my friend, lo, thou art fair, Thine eyes are doves behind thy veil, Thy hair as a row of the goats That have shone from mount Gilead,

Thy teeth as a row of the shorn ones That have come up from the washing, For all of them are forming twins, And a bereaved one is not among them.

As a thread of scarlet are thy lips, And thy speech is comely, As the work of the pomegranate is thy temple behind thy veil,

As the tower of David is thy neck, built for an armoury, The chief of the shields are hung on it, All shields of the mighty.

Thy two breasts are as two fawns, Twins of a roe, that are feeding among lilies.

Thy lips drop honey, O spouse, Honey and milk are under thy tongue, And the fragrance of thy garments Is as the fragrance of Lebanon.

My beloved sent his hand from the net-work, And my bowels were moved for him.

His cheeks as a bed of the spice, towers of perfumes, His lips are lilies, dropping flowing myrrh,

Thy teeth as a row of the lambs, That have come up from the washing, Because all of them are forming twins, And a bereaved one is not among them.

Sixty are queens, and eighty concubines, And virgins without number.

As the chorus of 'Mahanaim.' How beautiful were thy feet with sandals, O daughter of Nadib. The turnings of thy sides are as ornaments, Work of the hands of an artificer.

The mandrakes have given fragrance, And at our openings all pleasant things, New, yea, old, my beloved, I laid up for thee!

Set me as a seal on thy heart, as a seal on thine arm, For strong as death is love, Sharp as Sheol is jealousy, Its burnings are burnings of fire, a flame of Jah!

Many waters are not able to quench the love, And floods do not wash it away. If one give all the wealth of his house for love, Treading down -- they tread upon it.

We have a little sister, and breasts she hath not, What do we do for our sister, In the day that it is told of her?

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

Or to a young one of the harts on mountains of spices!