The watchmen found me as they went about in the city; they beat me, they bruised me, they took away my veil, those watchmen of the walls.
I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my beloved, that you tell him I am sick with love.
What is your beloved more than another beloved, O most beautiful among women? What is your beloved more than another beloved, that you thus adjure us?
My beloved is radiant and ruddy, distinguished among ten thousand.
His head is the finest gold; his locks are wavy, black as a raven.
His eyes are like doves beside streams of water, bathed in milk, sitting beside a full pool.
His cheeks are like beds of spices, mounds of sweet-smelling herbs. His lips are lilies, dripping liquid myrrh.