While the king sat at his table, My spikenard sent forth its fragrance.

“My beloved is to me like a pouch of myrrh
Which lies all night between my breasts.

Your lips drip nectar, [my] bride; honey and milk [are] under your lips; the scent of your garments [is] like the scent of Lebanon.

The Beloved to Her Lover: Awake, O north wind; come, O south wind! Blow on my garden so that its fragrant spices may send out their sweet smell. May my beloved come into his garden and eat its delightful fruit!

I am sleeping, but my heart waketh: The sound of my beloved knocking! 'Open to me, my sister, my friend, My dove, my perfect one, For my head is filled with dew, My locks with drops of the night.'

My beloved sent his hand from the net-work, And my bowels were moved for him.

“I said, ‘I will climb the palm tree;
I will grasp its branches.
Let your breasts be like clusters of the grapevine,
And the fragrance of your breath like apples,

The mandrakes send out their fragrance; over our door is every delicacy, both new and old, which I have stored up for you, my lover.

The Beloved to Her Lover: Set me like a cylinder seal over your heart, like a signet on your arm. For love is as strong as death, passion is as unrelenting as Sheol. Its flames burst forth, it is a blazing flame.