Song of Solomon 4

1 [HE] Lo! thou art beautiful, my fair one, Lo! thou art beautiful, Thine eyes, are doves, from behind thy veil, —Thy hair, is like a flock of goats, which are reclining on the sides of Mount Gilead:

2 Thy teeth, are like a flock, evenly grown, which have come up from the washing-place, —whereof, all of them, are twin-bearers, and bereaved, is none among them:

3 Like a cord of crimson, are thy lips, and, thy mouth, is lovely, —Like a slice of pomegranate, are thy temples, behind thy veil:

4 Like the tower of David, is thy neck, built for war, —A thousand shields, hung thereon, all, equipment of heroes:

5 Thy two breasts, are like two young roes, twins of a gazelle, —which pasture among lilies.

6 Until the day, breathe, and the shadows, be lengthened, I will get me unto the mountain of myrrh, and unto the hill of frankincense.

7 Thou art, all over, beautiful, my fair one, and, blemish, is there none in thee.

8 With me, from Lebanon, O bride, with me, from Lebanon, shalt thou enter, —Thou shalt look round from the top of Amana, from the top of Senir, and Hermon, from the dens of lions, from the mountains of leopards.

9 Thou hast encouraged me, my sister, bride, —thou hast encouraged me, with one [glance] of thine eyes, with one ornament of thy neck.

10 How beautiful are thy caresses, my sister, bride, —how much more delightful thy caresses, than wine, and the fragrance of thine oils, than all spices:

11 With sweetness, thy lips do drip, O bride, —Honey and milk, are under thy tongue, and, the fragrance of thy garments, is like the fragrance of Lebanon.

12 A garden barred, is my sister, bride, —a spring barred, a fountain sealed:

13 Thy buddings forth, are a paradise of pomegranates, with precious fruits, —henna bushes, with nard blossoms:

14 Nard and saffron, sweet cane and cinnamon, with all woods of frankincense, —myrrh and aloes, with all the chiefs of spices:

15 A garden fountain, a well of living waters, —and flowings from Lebanon.

16 [SHE] Awake, O north wind, and come in, thou south, Fan my garden—its balsams, will flow out, —Let my beloved enter his garden, and eat his precious fruits.