You are as beautiful as Tirzah, my darling, as lovely as Jerusalem, as majestic as troops with banners.
Turn your eyes from me; they overwhelm me. Your hair is like a flock of goats descending from Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of sheep coming up from the washing. Each has its twin, not one of them is missing.
Your temples behind your veil are like the halves of a pomegranate.
Sixty queens there may be, and eighty concubines, and virgins beyond number;
but my dove, my perfect one, is unique, the only daughter of her mother, the favorite of the one who bore her. The young women saw her and called her blessed; the queens and concubines praised her.