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.

His left hand is under my head, And his right hand doth embrace me.

For, lo, the winter is past; The rain is over and gone;

Thy lips, O my bride, drop as the honeycomb: Honey and milk are under thy tongue; And the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.

His left hand'should be under my head, And his right hand should embrace me.

Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, Leaning upon her beloved? Under the apple-tree I awakened thee: There thy mother was in travail with thee, There was she in travail that brought thee forth.