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

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

Your teeth are like a flock of newly-shorn sheep coming up from the washing place; each of them has a twin, and not one of them is missing.

The Speaker: Who is this coming up from the desert like a column of smoke, like a fragrant billow of myrrh and frankincense, every kind of fragrant powder of the traveling merchants?

Turn your eyes away from me – they overwhelm me! Your hair is like a flock of goats descending from Mount Gilead.

Your teeth are like a flock of sheep coming up from the washing; each has its twin; not one of them is missing.

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 Lover to His Beloved: (7:2) How beautiful are your sandaled feet, O nobleman’s daughter! The curves of your thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a master craftsman.

The Lover to His Beloved: Oh, you are beautiful, my darling! Oh, you are beautiful! Your eyes behind your veil are like doves. Your hair is like a flock of female goats descending from Mount Gilead.

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.

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.

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

Surging waters cannot quench love; floodwaters cannot overflow it. If someone were to offer all his possessions to buy love, the offer would be utterly despised.

His cheeks are like garden beds full of balsam trees yielding perfume. His lips are like lilies dripping with drops of myrrh.

Your cheeks are beautiful with ornaments; your neck is lovely with strings of jewels.

You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride! You have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes, with one jewel of your necklace.

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

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

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?