Song of Solomon 4
1 Behold, you are beautiful, my love. Behold, you are beautiful. Your eyes are like doves behind your veil. Your hair is as a flock of goats, that descend from Mount Gilead.
[Sponsus Quam pulchra es, amica mea! quam pulchra es! Oculi tui columbarum, absque eo quod intrinsecus latet. Capilli tui sicut greges caprarum quæ ascenderunt de monte Galaad.
2 Your teeth are like a newly shorn flock, which have come up from the washing, where every one of them has twins. None is bereaved amongst them.
Dentes tui sicut greges tonsarum quæ ascenderunt de lavacro; omnes gemellis fœtibus, et sterilis non est inter eas.
3 Your lips are like scarlet thread. Your mouth is lovely. Your temples are like a piece of a pomegranate behind your veil.
Sicut vitta coccinea labia tua, et eloquium tuum dulce. Sicut fragmen mali punici, ita genæ tuæ, absque eo quod intrinsecus latet.
4 Your neck is like David’s tower built for an armoury, on which a thousand shields hang, all the shields of the mighty men.
Sicut turris David collum tuum, quæ ædificata est cum propugnaculis; mille clypei pendent ex ea, omnis armatura fortium.
5 Your two breasts are like two fawns that are twins of a roe, which feed amongst the lilies.
Duo ubera tua sicut duo hinnuli, capreæ gemelli, qui pascuntur in liliis.
6 Until the day is cool, and the shadows flee away, I will go to the mountain of myrrh, to the hill of frankincense.
Donec aspiret dies, et inclinentur umbræ, vadam ad montem myrrhæ, et ad collem thuris.
7 You are all beautiful, my love. There is no spot in you.
Tota pulchra es, amica mea, et macula non est in te.
8 Come with me from Lebanon, my bride, with me from Lebanon. Look from the top of Amana, from the top of Senir and Hermon, from the lions’ dens, from the mountains of the leopards.
Veni de Libano, sponsa mea: veni de Libano, veni, coronaberis: de capite Amana, de vertice Sanir et Hermon, de cubilibus leonum, de montibus pardorum.
9 You have ravished my heart, my sister, my bride. You have ravished my heart with one of your eyes, with one chain of your neck.
Vulnerasti cor meum, soror mea, sponsa; vulnerasti cor meum in uno oculorum tuorum, et in uno crine colli tui.
10 How beautiful is your love, my sister, my bride! How much better is your love than wine, the fragrance of your perfumes than all kinds of spices!
Quam pulchræ sunt mammæ tuæ, soror mea sponsa! pulchriora sunt ubera tua vino, et odor unguentorum tuorum super omnia aromata.
11 Your lips, my bride, drip like the honeycomb. Honey and milk are under your tongue. The smell of your garments is like the smell of Lebanon.
Favus distillans labia tua, sponsa; mel et lac sub lingua tua: et odor vestimentorum tuorum sicut odor thuris.
12 My sister, my bride, is a locked up garden; a locked up spring, a sealed fountain.
Hortus conclusus soror mea, sponsa, hortus conclusus, fons signatus.
13 Your shoots are an orchard of pomegranates, with precious fruits, henna with spikenard plants,
Emissiones tuæ paradisus malorum punicorum, cum pomorum fructibus, cypri cum nardo.
14 spikenard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, with every kind of incense tree; myrrh and aloes, with all the best spices,
Nardus et crocus, fistula et cinnamomum, cum universis lignis Libani; myrrha et aloë, cum omnibus primis unguentis.
15 a fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, flowing streams from Lebanon.
Fons hortorum, puteus aquarum viventium, quæ fluunt impetu de Libano.
16 Awake, north wind, and come, you south! Blow on my garden, that its spices may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and taste his precious fruits.
Sponsa Surge, aquilo, et veni, auster: perfla hortum meum, et fluant aromata illius. Veniat dilectus meus in hortum suum, et comedat fructum pomorum suorum.
