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

Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, And thy speech is comely; As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples Behind thy veil.

The watchmen that went about the city found me; They smote me, they wounded me; The keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.

As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples Behind thy veil.