Your face is a delight with rings of hair, your neck with chains of jewels.

O my dove, you are in the holes of the mountain sides, in the cracks of the high hills; let me see your face, let your voice come to my ears; for sweet is your voice, and your face is fair.

I was but a little way from them, when I came face to face with him who is the love of my soul. I took him by the hands, and did not let him go, till I had taken him into my mother's house, and into the room of her who gave me birth.

His face is as beds of spices, giving out perfumes of every sort; his lips like lilies, dropping liquid myrrh.