I said, I will go up to the palm tree, I will take hold of its branches: may also your breasts be as clusters of the vine, and the fragrance of your breath like apples;

Your branches are a paradise of pomegranates
with choicest fruits,
henna with nard—

His head purified gold, his locks waving branches, black as a raven.

This thy stature is like to a palm-tree, And thy breasts to grape clusters.

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