The Bridegroom Praises the Bride

The Beloved

  1Behold, you are fair, my love!
   Behold, you are fair!
   You have dove’s eyes behind your veil.
   Your hair is like a flock of goats,
   Going down from Mount Gilead.
   2Your teeth are like a flock of shorn sheep
   Which have come up from the washing,
   Every one of which bears twins,
   And none is barren among them.
   3Your lips are like a strand of scarlet,
   And your mouth is lovely.
   Your temples behind your veil
   Are like a piece of pomegranate.
   4Your neck is like the tower of David,
   Built for an armory,
   On which hang a thousand bucklers,
   All shields of mighty men.
   5Your two breasts are like two fawns,
   Twins of a gazelle,
   Which feed among the lilies.
  6Until the day breaks
   And the shadows flee away,
   I will go my way to the mountain of myrrh
   And to the hill of frankincense.
  7You are all fair, my love,
   And there is no spot in you.
   8Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse,
   With me from Lebanon.
   Look from the top of Amana,
   From the top of Senir and Hermon,
   From the lions’ dens,
   From the mountains of the leopards.
  9You have ravished my heart,
   My sister, my spouse;
   You have ravished my heart
   With one look of your eyes,
   With one link of your necklace.
   10How fair is your love,
   My sister, my spouse!
   How much better than wine is your love,
   And the scent of your perfumes
   Than all spices!
   11Your lips, O my spouse,
   Drip as the honeycomb;
   Honey and milk are under your tongue;
   And the fragrance of your garments
   Islike the fragrance of Lebanon.
  12A garden enclosed
   Is my sister, my spouse,
   A spring shut up,
   A fountain sealed.
   13Your plants are an orchard of pomegranates
   With pleasant fruits,
   Fragrant henna with spikenard,
   14Spikenard and saffron,
   Calamus and cinnamon,
   With all trees of frankincense,
   Myrrh and aloes,
   With all the chief spices—
   15A fountain of gardens,
   A well of living waters,
   And streams from Lebanon.

The Shulamite

  16Awake, O north wind,
   And come, O south!
   Blow upon my garden,
   That its spices may flow out.
   Let my beloved come to his garden
   And eat its pleasant fruits.