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.

Turn away thine eyes from me, For they overcome me. Thy hair is as a flock of goats On the slopes of Gilead.

Many waters cannot quench love, Neither do the floods drown it: Even if a man gave all the substance of his house for love, It would utterly be contemned.