I rose up to open to my beloved; and my hands dripped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.

His cheeks are like a bed of spices, like sweet flowers: his lips like lilies, dripping sweet smelling myrrh.

As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved among the sons. I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.

O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the cliff, let me see your face, let me hear your voice; for sweet is your voice, and your countenance is lovely.

His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.

The fig tree puts forth its green figs, and the vines with the tender grapes give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.