My dove, in the clefts of the rock, In the covert of the precipice, Let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

I will rise now, and go about the city; In the streets and in the broadways Will I seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.

The watchmen that go about the city found me: Have ye seen him whom my soul loveth?

Whither is thy beloved gone, Thou fairest among women? Whither is thy beloved turned aside? And we will seek him with thee.

I went down into the garden of nuts, To see the verdure of the valley, To see whether the vine budded, Whether the pomegranates blossomed.

We will go up early to the vineyards, We will see if the vine hath budded, If the blossom is opening, And the pomegranates are in bloom: There will I give thee my loves.