My beloved is mine, and I am his: He feedeth his flock among the lilies.

Thy two breasts are like two fawns That are twins of a roe, Which feed among the lilies.

His cheeks are as a bed of spices, As banks of sweet herbs: His lips are as lilies, dropping liquid myrrh.

My beloved is gone down to his garden, To the beds of spices, To feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies.

I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine; He feedeth his flock among the lilies,

Thy body is like a round goblet, Wherein no mingled wine is wanting: Thy waist is like a heap of wheat Set about with lilies.

And why are ye anxious concerning raiment? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin:

Consider the lilies, how they grow: they toil not, neither do they spin; yet I say unto you, Even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.