Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride; milk and honey are under your tongue.1 The fragrance of your garments is like that of Lebanon.212
You are a garden3 locked up, my sister, my bride;4 you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain.513
Your plants are an orchard of pomegranates6 with choice fruits, with henna7 and nard,
nard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon,8 with every kind of incense tree, with myrrh9 and aloes10 and all the finest spices.1115
You area a garden12 fountain,13 a well of flowing water streaming down from Lebanon.