Thy rounded thighs are like jewels,

The work of the hands of a skilful workman.

Wherein no mingled wine is wanting:

Thy waist is like a heap of wheat

Set about with lilies.

That are twins of a roe.

Thine eyes as the pools in Heshbon,

By the gate of Bath-rabbim;

Thy nose is like the tower of Lebanon

Which looketh toward Damascus.

And the hair of thy head like purple;

The king is held captive in the tresses thereof.

O love, for delights!

And thy breasts to its clusters.

I will take hold of the branches thereof:

Let thy breasts be as clusters of the vine,

And the smell of thy breath like apples,

That goeth down smoothly for my beloved,

Gliding through the lips of those that are asleep.

And his desire is toward me.

Let us lodge in the villages.

Let us see whether the vine hath budded,

And its blossom is open,

And the pomegranates are in flower:

There will I give thee my love.

And at our doors are all manner of precious fruits, new and old,

Which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved.