Chapter 4

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; Thine eyes are as doves behind thy veil. Thy hair is as a flock of goats, That lie along the side of mount Gilead.

Thy teeth are like a flock of ewes that are newly shorn, Which are come up from the washing, Whereof every one hath twins, And none is bereaved among them.

Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, And thy mouth is comely. Thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate Behind thy veil.

Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armory, Whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, All the shields of the mighty men.

Thy two breasts are like two fawns That are twins of a roe, Which feed among the lilies.

Until the day be cool, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, And to the hill of frankincense.

Thou art all fair, my love; And there is no spot in thee.

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.

Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my bride; Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, With one chain of thy neck.

How fair is thy love, my sister, my bride! How much better is thy love than wine! And the fragrance of thine oils than all manner of spices!

Thy lips, O my bride, drop as the honeycomb: Honey and milk are under thy tongue; And the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.

A garden shut up is my sister, my bride; A spring shut up, a fountain sealed.

Thy shoots are an orchard of pomegranates, with precious fruits; Henna with spikenard plants,

Spikenard and saffron, Calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; Myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices.

Thou art a fountain of gardens, A well of living waters, And flowing streams from Lebanon.

Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; Blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, And eat his precious fruits.