Tell me, you whom my soul loves, where you pasture your flock, where you make it lie down at noon; for why should I be like one who wanders beside the flocks of your companions?
If you do not know, O fairest among women, follow in the tracks of the flock, and pasture your kids beside the shepherds' tents.
I compare you, my love, to a mare of Pharaoh's chariots.
Your cheeks are comely with ornaments, your neck with strings of jewels.
We will make you ornaments of gold, studded with silver.
While the king was on his couch, my nard gave forth its fragrance.
My beloved is to me a bag of myrrh, that lies between my breasts.
My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blossoms in the vineyards of Enge'di.
Behold, you are beautiful, my love; behold, you are beautiful; your eyes are doves.
Behold, you are beautiful, my beloved, truly lovely. Our couch is green;
the beams of our house are cedar, our rafters are pine.