The Song of songs, which is Solomon's.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for your love is better than wine.

Your oils have a pleasing fragrance. Your name is oil poured forth, therefore the virgins love you.

Take me away with you. Let us hurry. The king has brought me into his chambers. We will be glad and rejoice in you. We will praise your love more than wine. They are right to love you.

Tell me, you whom my soul loves, where you graze your flock, where you rest them at noon; For why should I be as one who is veiled beside the flocks of your companions?

My beloved is to me a sachet of myrrh, that lies between my breasts.

My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blossoms from the vineyards of En Gedi.

Behold, you are beautiful, my beloved, yes, pleasant; and our couch is verdant.

As a lily among thorns, so is my love among the daughters.

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, his fruit was sweet to my taste.

His left hand is under my head. His right hand embraces me.

My beloved is like a roe or a young hart. Behold, he stands behind our wall. He looks in at the windows. He glances through the lattice.

For, behold, the winter is past. The rain is over and gone.

The flowers appear on the earth. The time of the singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.

My dove in the clefts of the rock, In the hiding places of the mountainside, Let me see your face. Let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely.

Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that spoil the vineyards; for our vineyards are in blossom.

My beloved is mine, and I am his. He browses among the lilies.

Until the day is cool, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be like a gazelle or a young stag on the mountains of Bether.

Who is this who comes up from the wilderness like pillars of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, with all spices of the merchant?

Behold, it is Solomon's carriage. Sixty mighty men are around it, of the mighty men of Israel.

Behold, you are beautiful, my love. Behold, you are beautiful. Your eyes are doves behind your veil. Your hair is as a flock of goats, that descend from Mount Gilead.

Your teeth are like a newly shorn flock, which have come up from the washing, where every one of them has twins. None is bereaved among them.

Your lips are like scarlet thread. Your mouth is lovely. Your temples are like a piece of a pomegranate behind your veil.

Your neck is like David's tower built for an armory, whereon a thousand shields hang, all the shields of the mighty men.

Until the day is cool, and the shadows flee away, I will go to the mountain of myrrh, to the hill of frankincense.

You are all beautiful, my love. There is no spot in you.

How beautiful is your love, my sister, my bride. How much better is your love than wine. The fragrance of your perfumes than all manner of spices.

Your lips, my bride, drip like the honeycomb. Honey and milk are under your tongue. The smell of your garments is like the smell of Lebanon.

A locked up garden is my sister, my bride; a locked up spring, a sealed fountain.

I was asleep, but my heart was awake. It is the voice of my beloved who knocks: "Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my head is filled with dew, and my hair with the dampness of the night."

How is your beloved better than another beloved, you fairest among women? How is your beloved better than another beloved, that you do so adjure us?

My beloved is white and ruddy. The best among ten thousand.

His head is like the purest gold. His hair is bushy, black as a raven.

His hands are like rings of gold set with beryl. His body is like ivory work overlaid with sapphires.

His legs are like pillars of marble set on sockets of fine gold. His appearance is like Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.

His mouth is sweetness; yes, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, daughters of Jerusalem.

I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine. He browses among the lilies,

You are beautiful, my love, as Tirzah, lovely as Jerusalem, awesome as an army with banners.

Turn away your eyes from me, for they have overcome me. Your hair is like a flock of goats, that lie along the side of Gilead.

Your teeth are like a flock of ewes, which have come up from the washing; of which every one has twins; none is bereaved among them.

My dove, my perfect one, is unique. She is her mother's only daughter. She is the favorite one of her who bore her. The daughters saw her, and called her blessed; the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.

Who is she who looks forth as the morning, beautiful as the moon, clear as the sun, and awesome as an army with banners?

Return, return, Shulammite. Return, return, that we may gaze at you. Why do you desire to gaze at the Shulammite, as at the dance of Mahanaim?

Your body is like a round goblet, no mixed wine is wanting. Your waist is like a heap of wheat, set about with lilies.

Your neck is like an ivory tower. Your eyes are like the pools in Heshbon by the gate of Bathrabbim. Your nose is like the tower of Lebanon which looks toward Damascus.

Your head on you is like Carmel. The hair of your head like purple. The king is held captive in its tresses.

This, your stature, is like a palm tree, your breasts like its fruit.

I am my beloved's. His desire is toward me.

Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field. Let us lodge in the villages.

Let's go early up to the vineyards. Let's see whether the vine has budded, its blossom is open, and the pomegranates are in flower. There I will give you my love.

Who is this who comes up from the wilderness, leaning on her beloved? Under the apple tree I aroused you. There your mother conceived you. There she was in labor and bore you.

Set me as a seal on your heart, as a seal on your arm; for love is strong as death. Jealousy is as cruel as Sheol. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a very flame of the LORD.

We have a little sister. She has no breasts. What shall we do for our sister in the day when she is to be spoken for?

If she is a wall, we will build on her a turret of silver. If she is a door, we will enclose her with boards of cedar.

My own vineyard is before me. The thousand are for you, Solomon; two hundred for those who tend its fruit.