Come out, O maidens of Zion, and gaze upon King Solomon! He is wearing the crown with which his mother crowned him on his wedding day, on the most joyous day of his life!

The Beloved about Her Lover: All night long on my bed I longed for my lover. I longed for him but he never appeared.

The Beloved to Her Lover: Make haste, my beloved! Be like a gazelle or a young stag on the mountains of spices.

Your neck is like the tower of David built with courses of stones; one thousand shields are hung on it – all shields of valiant warriors.

His legs are like pillars of marble set on bases of pure gold. His appearance is like Lebanon, choice as its cedars.

The Beloved to Her Lover: Until the dawn arrives and the shadows flee, turn, my beloved – be like a gazelle or a young stag on the mountain gorges.

I arose to open for my beloved; my hands dripped with myrrh – my fingers flowed with myrrh on the handles of the lock.

If she is a wall, we will build on her a battlement of silver; but if she is a door, we will barricade her with boards of cedar.

The Beloved to Her Lover: “I have already taken off my robe – must I put it on again? I have already washed my feet – must I soil them again?”

The watchmen found me as they made their rounds in the city. They beat me, they bruised me; they took away my cloak, those watchmen on the walls!

The Beloved’s Brothers: We have a little sister, and as yet she has no breasts. What shall we do for our sister on the day when she is spoken for?

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!

The Maidens about His Beloved: Who is this coming up from the desert, leaning on her beloved? The Beloved to Her Lover: Under the apple tree I aroused you; there your mother conceived you, there she who bore you was in labor of childbirth.

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.

The pomegranates have appeared in the land, the time for pruning and singing has come; the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.

The Beloved about Her Lover: Listen! My lover is approaching! Look! Here he comes, leaping over the mountains, bounding over the hills!

The Beloved about Her Lover: While the king was at his banqueting table, my nard gave forth its fragrance.

The Lover to His Beloved: (7:1) Turn, turn, O Perfect One! Turn, turn, that I may stare at you! The Beloved to Her Lover: Why do you gaze upon the Perfect One like the dance of the Mahanaim?

Do not stare at me because I am dark, for the sun has burned my skin. My brothers were angry with me; they made me the keeper of the vineyards. Alas, my own vineyard I could not keep!

You are altogether beautiful, my darling! There is no blemish in you!