But my dove, my virtuous one, is unique;
she is the favorite of her mother,
perfect to the one who gave her birth.
Women see her and declare her fortunate;
queens and concubines also, and they sing her praises:

Y Who is this coming up from the wilderness,
leaning on the one she loves?

W I awakened you under the apricot tree.
There your mother conceived you;
there she conceived and gave you birth.

B Our sister is young;
she has no breasts.
What will we do for our sister
on the day she is spoken for?

If she is a wall,
we will build a silver parapet on it.
If she is a door,
we will enclose it with cedar planks.