You have ravished my heart, my sister, my bride. You have ravished my heart with one of your eyes, with one chain of your neck.

How beautiful is your love, my sister, my bride. How much better is your love than wine. The fragrance of your perfumes than all manner of spices.

A locked up garden is my sister, my bride; a locked up spring, a sealed fountain.

I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride. I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, friends. Drink, yes, drink abundantly, beloved.

I was asleep, but my heart was awake. It is the voice of my beloved who knocks: "Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my head is filled with dew, and my hair with the dampness of the night."

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