Tell me, O thou whom my soul loves, where thou feed [thy flock], where thou make [it] to rest at noon. For why should I be as she who is veiled beside the flocks of thy companions?

My dove, my undefiled, is [but] one. She is the only one of her mother. She is the choice one of her who bore her. The daughters saw her, and called her blessed, [yea], the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.

Who is she who looks forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, sublime as an army with banners?

Who is this who comes up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved? Under the apple tree I awoke thee. There thy mother was in travail with thee. There she who brought thee forth was in travail.

We have a little sister, and she has no breasts. What shall we do for our sister in the day when she shall be spoken for?

If she is a wall, we will build upon her a turret of silver. And if she is a door, we will enclose her with boards of cedar.