My dove, mine undefiled, is but one; She is the only one of her mother, She is the choice one of her that bore her. The daughters saw her, and they called her blessed; The queens and the concubines, and they praised her.

Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, Leaning upon her beloved? I awoke thee under the apple-tree: There thy mother brought thee forth; There she brought thee forth that bore thee.