My beloved is like a fragrant pouch of myrrh spending the night between my breasts.

Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of the gazelle grazing among the lilies.

Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.

The Lover to His Beloved: Your stature is like a palm tree, and your breasts are like clusters of grapes.

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: I was a wall, and my breasts were like fortress towers. Then I found favor in his eyes.

I want to climb the palm tree, and take hold of its fruit stalks. May your breasts be like the clusters of grapes, and may the fragrance of your breath be like apricots!

The Beloved to Her Lover: Oh, how I wish you were my little brother, nursing at my mother’s breasts; if I saw you outside, I could kiss you – surely no one would despise me!