'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 beds of balsam, To pasture his flock
in the gardens And gather lilies.
I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine, He who pastures his flock
among the lilies.'
'You are as beautiful as Tirzah, my darling, As lovely as Jerusalem, As awesome as an army with banners.
Turn your eyes away from me, For they have confused me; Your hair is like a flock of goats That have descended from Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of ewes That have come up from their
watering place, All of which bear twins, And not one among them has lost her young.
Your temples are like a slice of a pomegranate Behind your veil.
There are sixty queens and eighty concubines, And young women without number;
my dove, my perfect one, is unique: She is her mother’s only daughter;
She is the pure child
of the one who gave birth to her. The young women saw her and called her blessed, The queens and the concubines also,
and they praised her, saying,
‘Who is this who looks down like the dawn, As beautiful as the full moon, As pure as the sun, As awesome as an army with banners?’
I went down to the orchard of nut trees To see the plants of the valley, To see whether the vine had grown Or
the pomegranates had bloomed.
Before I was aware, my soul set me Over
the chariots of my noble people.'