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

His eyes are like doves by streams of water, washed in milk, mounted like jewels.

The Beloved about Her Lover: I am my beloved’s, and he desires me!

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.

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 about Her Lover: He brought me into the banquet hall, and he looked at me lovingly.

My lover thrust his hand through the hole, and my feelings were stirred for him.

The fragrance of your colognes is delightful; your name is like the finest perfume. No wonder the young women adore you!

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

All of them are skilled with a sword, well-trained in the art of warfare. Each has his sword at his side, to guard against the terrors of the night.

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.

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!

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

Your head crowns you like Mount Carmel. The locks of your hair are like royal tapestries – the king is held captive in its tresses!

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

The Beloved to Her Lover: Tell me, O you whom my heart loves, where do you pasture your sheep? Where do you rest your sheep during the midday heat? Tell me lest I wander around beside the flocks of your companions!

The Lover to His Beloved: If you do not know, O most beautiful of women, simply follow the tracks of my flock, and pasture your little lambs beside the tents of the shepherds.

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.

Your neck is like a tower made of ivory. Your eyes are the pools in Heshbon by the gate of Bath-Rabbim. Your nose is like the tower of Lebanon overlooking Damascus.