[Daughters of Jerusalem]Which way did your lover go, you who are the most beautiful of women? Which way did your lover turn, that we may look for him along with you?
[Woman]My lover has gone down to his garden, to the fragrant plantings, to graze in the gardens, to gather the lilies.
I belong to my lover and my lover belongs to me— the one grazing among the lilies.
[Man]You are as beautiful, my dearest, as Tirzah, as lovely as Jerusalem, formidable as those lofty sights.
Turn your eyes away from me, for they overwhelm me! Your hair is like a flock of goats as they stream down from Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of ewes as they come up from the washing pool— all of them perfectly matched, not one of them lacks its twin.
Like a slice of pomegranate is the curve of your face behind the veil of your hair.
There may be sixty queens and eighty secondary wives, young women beyond counting,
but my dove, my perfect one, is one of a kind. To her mother she's the only one, radiant to the one who bore her. Young women see her and declare her fortunate; queens and secondary wives praise her.
Who is this, gazing down like the morning star, beautiful as the full moon, radiant as the sun, formidable as those lofty sights?
[Man]To the nut grove I went down to look upon the fresh growth in the valley, to see whether the vine was in flower, whether the pomegranates had bloomed.
I hardly knew myself; she had set me in an official's chariot!a