Tell me, thou loved of my soul! Where wilt thou pasture thy flock? Where wilt thou let them recline at noon? For why should I be as one that wrappeth a veil about her, by the flocks of thy companions?

SHEThe voice of my beloved! Lo! here he cometh, - leaping over the mountains, skipping over the hills.

Resembleth, my beloved, a gazelle, or a young stag, - Lo! here he is, standing behind our wall, looking in at the windows, peeping in at the lattice.

The fig-tree, hath spiced her green figs, and, the vines - all blossom, yield fragrance, - Rise up! my fair - my beautiful - one, and come away!

Scarcely had I passed from them, when I found the beloved of my soul, - I caught him, and would not let him go, until that I had brought him into the house of my mother, and into the chamber of her that conceived me.

One alone, is my dove, my perfect one, one alone, was she to her mother, Pure, was she to her that bare her, - The daughters, have seen her, and pronounced her happy, Queens and concubines, and they have praised her.

THEYWho is this, coming up out of the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved? HEUnder the apple-tree, I roused thee, where thy mother, was in pain with thee, where she was in pain who gave thee birth!