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

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 shoots are a royal garden full of pomegranates with choice fruits: henna with nard,

Like a slice of pomegranate is your forehead behind your veil.

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

You are a garden spring, a well of fresh water flowing down from Lebanon.

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!

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

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

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

The Beloved to the Maidens: I adjure you, O maidens of Jerusalem, by the gazelles and by the young does of the open fields: Do not awaken or arouse love until it pleases!

The Beloved to the Maidens:I admonish you, O maidens of Jerusalem, by the gazelles and by the young does of the open fields: “Do not awake or arouse love until it pleases!”

Look! It is Solomon’s portable couch! It is surrounded by sixty warriors, some of Israel’s mightiest warriors.

His arms are like rods of gold set with chrysolite. His abdomen is like polished ivory inlaid with sapphires.

I was beside myself with joy! There please give me your myrrh, O daughter of my princely people.

nard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon with every kind of spice, myrrh and aloes with all the finest spices.

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

The Lover to His Beloved: I went down to the orchard of walnut trees, to look for the blossoms of the valley, to see if the vines had budded or if the pomegranates were in bloom.

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.

But she is unique! My dove, my perfect one! She is the special daughter of her mother, she is the favorite of the one who bore her. The maidens saw her and complimented her; the queens and concubines praised her: