“Your temples are like a slice of a pomegranate
Behind your veil.

“There are sixty queens and eighty concubines,
And maidens without number;

But my dove, my perfect one, is unique:
She is her mother’s only daughter;
She is the pure child of the one who bore her.
The maidens saw her and called her blessed,
The queens and the concubines also, and they praised her, saying,

“Come back, come back, O Shulammite;
Come back, come back, that we may gaze at you!”
“Why should you gaze at the Shulammite,
As at the dance of the two companies?

‘Who is this that grows like the dawn,
As beautiful as the full moon,
As pure as the sun,
As awesome as an army with banners?’

“I went down to the orchard of nut trees
To see the blossoms of the valley,
To see whether the vine had budded
Or the pomegranates had bloomed.

“Before I was aware, my soul set me
Over the chariots of my noble people.”

“Where has your beloved gone,
O most beautiful among women?
Where has your beloved turned,
That we may seek him with you?”

“I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine,
He who pastures his flock among the lilies.”

“You are as beautiful as Tirzah, my darling,
As lovely as Jerusalem,
As awesome as an army with banners.

“Turn your eyes away from me,
For they have confused me;
Your hair is like a flock of goats
That have descended from Gilead.

“My beloved has gone down to his garden,
To the beds of balsam,
To pasture his flock in the gardens
And gather lilies.

“Your teeth are like a flock of ewes
Which have come up from their washing,
All of which bear twins,
And not one among them has lost her young.