Canticum Canticorum 7
1 Chorus Quam pulchri sunt gressus tui in calceamentis, filia principis! Juncturæ femorum tuorum sicut monilia quæ fabricata sunt manu artificis.
As the chorus of 'Mahanaim.' How beautiful were thy feet with sandals, O daughter of Nadib. The turnings of thy sides [are] as ornaments, Work of the hands of an artificer.
2 Umbilicus tuus crater tornatilis, numquam indigens poculis. Venter tuus sicut acervus tritici vallatus liliis.
Thy waist [is] a basin of roundness, It lacketh not the mixture, Thy body a heap of wheat, fenced with lilies,
3 Duo ubera tua sicut duo hinnuli, gemelli capreæ.
Thy two breasts as two young ones, twins of a roe,
4 Collum tuum sicut turris eburnea; oculi tui sicut piscinæ in Hesebon quæ sunt in porta filiæ multitudinis. Nasus tuus sicut turris Libani, quæ respicit contra Damascum.
Thy neck as a tower of the ivory, Thine eyes pools in Heshbon, near the gate of Bath-Rabbim, Thy face as a tower of Lebanon looking to Damascus,
5 Caput tuum ut Carmelus; et comæ capitis tui sicut purpura regis vincta canalibus.
Thy head upon thee as Carmel, And the locks of thy head as purple, The king is bound with the flowings!
6 Sponsus Quam pulchra es, et quam decora, carissima, in deliciis!
How fair and how pleasant hast thou been, O love, in delights.
7 Statura tua assimilata est palmæ, et ubera tua botris.
This thy stature hath been like to a palm, And thy breasts to clusters.
8 Dixi: Ascendam in palmam, et apprehendam fructus ejus; et erunt ubera tua sicut botri vineæ, et odor oris tui sicut malorum.
I said, 'Let me go up on the palm, Let me lay hold on its boughs, Yea, let thy breasts be, I pray thee, as clusters of the vine, And the fragrance of thy face as citrons,
9 Guttur tuum sicut vinum optimum, dignum dilecto meo ad potandum, labiisque et dentibus illius ad ruminandum.
And thy palate as the good wine — 'Flowing to my beloved in uprightness, Strengthening the lips of the aged!
10 Sponsa Ego dilecto meo, et ad me conversio ejus.
I [am] my beloved's, and on me [is] his desire.
11 Veni, dilecte mi, egrediamur in agrum, commoremur in villis.
Come, my beloved, we go forth to the field,
12 Mane surgamus ad vineas: videamus si floruit vinea, si flores fructus parturiunt, si floruerunt mala punica; ibi dabo tibi ubera mea.
We lodge in the villages, we go early to the vineyards, We see if the vine hath flourished, The sweet smelling-flower hath opened. The pomegranates have blossomed, There do I give to thee my loves;
13 Mandragoræ dederunt odorem in portis nostris omnia poma: nova et vetera, dilecte mi, servavi tibi.]
The mandrakes have given fragrance, And at our openings all pleasant things, New, yea, old, my beloved, I laid up for thee!
