“Tell me, O you whom my soul loves,
Where do you pasture your flock,
Where do you make it lie down at noon?
For why should I be like one who is veiled
Beside the flocks of your companions?”

A bundle of myrrh is my wellbeloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.

Lo, thou art fair, my friend, Lo, thou art fair, thine eyes are doves!

Lo, thou art fair, my love, yea, pleasant, Yea, our couch is green,

The voice of my beloved! lo, this -- he is coming, Leaping on the mountains, skipping on the hills.

My beloved is like to a roe, Or to a young one of the harts. Lo, this -- he is standing behind our wall, Looking from the windows, Blooming from the lattice.

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

I'll get up and go all around the city, throughout the streets, and in the squares. I'll seek the one I love. I sought him, but didn't find him.

Lo, his couch, that is Solomon's, Sixty mighty ones are around it, Of the mighty of Israel,

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; Thine eyes are as doves behind thy veil. Thy hair is as a flock of goats, That lie along the side of mount Gilead.

Until the day breaks and the shadows flee, I'll go to the mountain of myrrh and to the hill of frankincense.

Turn away thine eyes from me, For they have overcome me. Thy hair is as a flock of goats, That lie along the side of Gilead.

I said, 'Let me go up on the palm, Let me lay hold on its boughs, Yea, let thy breasts be, I pray thee, as clusters of the vine, And the fragrance of thy face as citrons,

Let us go early to the vineyards, let us see whether the vine has budded, whether the blossom has opened, whether the pomegranates have bloomed. There I'll give you my love.