Oh my! You are beautiful, my beloved!
    Oh my! You are beautiful!
Your eyes are doves
    from behind your veil.
Your hair is like a flock of goats
    that move down from the mountains of Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of shorn ewes
    that came up from the washing,
all of them bearing twins,
    and there is none bereaved among them.
Your lips are like a thread of crimson,
    and your mouth is lovely.
Your temple is like pomegranate
    from behind your veil.
Your neck is like the tower of David,
    built in courses;
a thousand ornaments are hung on it,
    all the shields of the warriors.
Your two breasts are like two fawns,
    twins of a gazelle that feed among the lilies.
Until the day breathes and the shadows flee,
    I will go to the mountain of the myrrh,
        to the hill of the frankincense.
You are completely beautiful, my beloved!
    You are flawless!

Come with me from Lebanon, my bride!
    Come with me from Lebanon!
Look from the top of Amana,
    from the top of Senir and Hermon,
from the dwelling places of the lions,
    from the mountains of leopard.
You have stolen (my) heart, my sister bride!
    You have stolen my heart with one glance from your eyes,
        with one ornament from your necklaces.
How beautiful is your love, my sister bride!
    How better is your love than wine,
        and the fragrance of your oils than any spice!
Your lips drip nectar, my bride;
    honey and milk are under your lips;
        the scent of your garments is like the scent of Lebanon.

A garden locked is my sister bride,
    a spring enclosed, a fountain sealed.
Your shoots are an orchard of pomegranates with choice fruit,
    henna with nard;
nard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon spice with all trees of frankincense,
    myrrh and aloes with all chief spices.
A garden fountain, a well of living water,
    flowing (streams) from Lebanon.
Awake, O north wind! Come, O south wind!
    Blow upon my garden! Let its fragrances waft forth!
Let my beloved come to his garden,
    let him eat his choice fruit!

I have come to my garden, my sister bride,
    I have gathered my myrrh with my spice,
I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey,
    I have drunk my wine with my milk!
Eat, O friends! Drink and become drunk with love!

I was asleep but my heart was awake.
    A sound! My beloved knocking!
"Open to me, my sister, my beloved,
    my dove, my perfect one!
For my head is full of dew,
    my hair drenched from the moist night air."
I have taken off my tunic, must I put it on?
    I have bathed my feet, must I soil them?
My beloved thrust his hand into the opening,
    and my inmost yearned for him.
I myself arose to open to my beloved;
    my hands dripped with myrrh,
my fingers with liquid myrrh
    upon the handles of the bolt.
I opened myself to my beloved,
    but my beloved had turned and gone;
my heart sank when he turned away.
I sought him, but I did not find him;
    I called him, but he did not answer me.
The sentinels making rounds in the city found me;
    they beat me, they wounded me;
they took my cloak away from me—
    those sentinels on the walls!

I adjure you, O maidens of Jerusalem,
    if you find my beloved, what will you tell him?
Tell him that I am lovesick!

How is your beloved better than another lover,
    O most beautiful among women?
How is your beloved better than another lover,
    that you adjure us thus?
My beloved is radiant and ruddy,
    distinguished among ten thousand.
His head is gold, refined gold;
    his locks are wavy, black as a raven.
His eyes are like doves beside springs of water,
    bathed in milk, set like mounted jewels.
His cheeks are like beds of spice, a tower of fragrances;
    his lips are lilies dripping liquid myrrh.
His arms are rods of gold engraved with jewels;
    his belly is polished ivory covered with sapphires.
His legs are columns of alabaster, set on bases of gold;
    his appearance is like Lebanon, choice as its cedars.
His mouth is sweet,
    and he is altogether desirable.
This is my beloved;
    this is my friend, O young women of Jerusalem.

Where has your beloved gone,
    O most beautiful among women?
Where has your beloved turned
    that we may seek him with you?
My beloved has gone down to his garden,
    to the garden bed of the spice,
        to pasture his flock and to gather lilies in the garden.

I belong to my beloved and he belongs to me;
    he pastures his flock among the lilies.

You are beautiful, my beloved, as Tirzah,
    lovely as Jerusalem,
        overwhelming as an army with banners.
Turn away your eyes from before me,
    for they overwhelm me.
Your hair is like a flock of the goats
    that moves down from Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of the ewes
    that have come up from the washing,
all of them bearing twins,
    and there is none bereaved among them.
Your cheeks behind your veil
    are like halves of a pomegranate.

Sixty queens there are, eighty concubines,
    and maidens beyond number.
My dove, she is the one;
    my perfect, she is the only one;
        she is the favorite of her mother who bore her.
Maidens see her and consider her fortunate;
    queens and concubines praise her:
"Who is this that looks down like the dawn,
beautiful as the moon,
    bright as the sun,
        overwhelming as an army with banners?"

I went down to the orchard of the walnut trees
    to look at the blossoms of the valley,
to see whether the vines have sprouted,
    whether the pomegranates have blossomed.
I did not know my heart set me
    in a chariot of my princely people.
Turn, turn, O Shulammite!
    Turn, turn so that we may look upon you!
Why do you look upon the Shulammite
    as at a dance of the two armies?