His left hand under my head, then, his right hand, embraceth me!

Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armory, Whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, All the shields of the mighty men.

My beloved, thrust in his hand, at the window, and, my feelings, were deeply moved for him:

(The Bridegroom)“Why should you gaze at the Shulammite,
As at the dance of the two armies?“How beautiful are your feet in sandals,
O prince’s daughter!
The curves of your hips are like jewels,
The work of the hands of an artist.

I would take you by the hand into my mother's house, and she would be my teacher. I would give you drink of spiced wine, drink of the pomegranate.

His left hand under my head, then, his right hand, embraceth me.