Look at you! You are beautiful, my true love. Look at you! You are so beautiful. Your eyes behind your veil are like doves. Your hair is like a flock of goats moving down Mount Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of sheep about to be sheared, sheep that come up from the washing. All of them bear twins, and not one has lost its young.
Your lips are like scarlet thread. Your mouth is lovely. Your temples behind your veil are like slices of pomegranate.
Your neck is like David's beautifully-designed tower. A thousand round shields belonging to soldiers are hung on it.
Your breasts are like two fawns, like twin gazelles grazing among the lilies.
When the day brings a cool breeze and the shadows flee, I will go to the mountain of myrrh and the hill of incense.
You are beautiful in every way, my true love. There is no blemish on you.
You will come with me from Lebanon, from Lebanon as my bride. You will travel with me from the peak of Mount Amana, from the mountain peaks in Senir and Hermon, from the lairs of lions, from the mountains of leopards.
My bride, my sister, you have charmed me. You have charmed me with a single glance from your eyes, with a single strand of your necklace.
How beautiful are your expressions of love, my bride, my sister! How much better are your expressions of love than wine and the fragrance of your perfume than any spice.
Your lips drip honey, my bride. Honey and milk are under your tongue. The fragrance of your clothing is like the fragrance of Lebanon.
My bride, my sister is a garden that is locked, a garden that is locked, a spring that is sealed.
You are paradise that produces pomegranates and the best fruits, henna flowers and nard,
nard and saffron, calamus, cinnamon, and all kinds of incense, myrrh, aloes, and all the best spices.
[You are] a spring for gardens, a well of living water flowing from Lebanon.
Awake, north wind! Come, south wind! Blow on my garden! Let its spices flow from it. Let my beloved come to his garden, and let him eat his own precious fruit.