As the apple-tree among the trees of the wood, So is my beloved among the sons: In his shadow have I rapture and sit down; And his fruit is sweet to my taste.

Until the day dawn, and the shadows flee away. Turn, my beloved: be thou like a gazelle or a young hart, Upon the mountains of Bether.

Until the day dawn, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, And to the hill of frankincense.

My beloved is white and ruddy, The chiefest among ten thousand.

My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices, To feed in the gardens and to gather lilies.

Who is she that looketh forth as the dawn, Fair as the moon, clear as the sun, Terrible as troops with banners?

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.

And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine, ... That goeth down smoothly for my beloved, And stealeth over the lips of them that are asleep.