4:1 The Lover to His Beloved:

Oh, you are beautiful, my darling!

Oh, you are beautiful!

Your eyes behind your veil are like doves.

Your hair is like a flock of female goats

descending from Mount Gilead.

2 Your teeth are like a flock of newly shorn sheep

coming up from the washing place;

each of them has a twin,

and not one of them is missing.

3 Your lips are like a scarlet thread;

your mouth is lovely.

Your forehead behind your veil

is like a slice of pomegranate.

4 Your neck is like the tower of David

built with courses of stones;

one thousand shields are hung on it—

all shields of valiant warriors.

5 Your two breasts are like two fawns,

twins of the gazelle

grazing among the lilies.

6 Until the dawn arrives

and the shadows flee,

I will go up to the mountain of myrrh

and to the hill of frankincense.

7 You are altogether beautiful, my darling!

There is no blemish in you!

8 Come with me from Lebanon, my bride;

come with me from Lebanon.

Descend from the crest of Amana,

from the top of Senir, the summit of Hermon,

from the lions’ dens

and the mountain haunts of the leopards.

9 You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride!

You have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes,

with one jewel of your necklace.

10 How delightful is your love, my sister, my bride!

How much better is your love than wine;

the fragrance of your perfume is better than any spice!

11 Your lips drip sweetness like the honeycomb, my bride;

honey and milk are under your tongue.

The fragrance of your garments is like the fragrance of Lebanon.

12 The Lover to His Beloved:

You are a locked garden, my sister, my bride;

you are an enclosed spring, a sealed-up fountain.

13 Your shoots are a royal garden full of pomegranates

with choice fruits:

henna with nard,

14 nard and saffron,

calamus and cinnamon with every kind of spice,

myrrh and aloes with all the finest spices.

15 You are a garden spring,

a well of fresh water flowing down from Lebanon.

16 The Beloved to Her Lover:

Awake, O north wind; come, O south wind!

Blow on my garden so that its fragrant spices may send out their sweet smell.

May my beloved come into his garden

and eat its delightful fruit!

5:1 The Lover to His Beloved:

I have entered my garden, O my sister, my bride;

I have gathered my myrrh with my balsam spice.

I have eaten my honeycomb and my honey;

I have drunk my wine and my milk!

The Poet to the Couple:

Eat, friends, and drink!

Drink freely, O lovers!