The voice of my loved one! See, he comes dancing on the mountains, stepping quickly on the hills.

My loved one said to me, Get up, my love, my fair one, and come away.

The flowers are come on the earth; the time of cutting the vines is come, and the voice of the dove is sounding in our land;

The fig-tree puts out her green fruit and the vines with their young fruit give a good smell. Get up from your bed, my beautiful one, and come away.

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.

Till the evening comes, and the sky slowly becomes dark, come, my loved one, and be like a roe on the mountains of Bether.

Your teeth are like a flock of sheep whose wool is newly cut, which come up from the washing; every one has two lambs, and there is not one without young.

Till the evening comes, and the sky slowly becomes dark, I will go to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense.

Come with me from Lebanon, my bride, with me from Lebanon; see from the top of Amana, from the top of Senir and Hermon, from the places of the lions, from the mountains of the leopards.

Be awake, O north wind; and come, O south, blowing on my garden, so that its spices may come out. Let my loved one come into his garden, and take of his good fruits.

I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride; to take my myrrh with my spice; my wax with my honey; my wine with my milk. Take meat, O friends; take wine, yes, be overcome with love.

I made the door open to my loved one; but my loved one had taken himself away, and was gone, my soul was feeble when his back was turned on me; I went after him, but I did not come near him; I said his name, but he gave me no answer.

Your teeth are like a flock of sheep which come up from the washing; every one has two lambs, and there is not one without young.

Come back, come back, O Shulammite; come back, come back, so that our eyes may see you. What will you see in the Shulammite? A sword-dance.

Come, my loved one, let us go out into the field; let us take rest among the cypress-trees.

Who is this, who comes up from the waste places, resting on her loved one? It was I who made you awake under the apple-tree, where your mother gave you birth; there she was in pain at your birth.

I am a wall, and my breasts are like towers; then was I in his eyes as one to whom good chance had come.

Come quickly, my loved one, and be like a roe on the mountains of spice.