The Song of Songs

My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the beds of spices, To feed in the gardens and to gather lilies.

I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine: He feedeth [his flock] among the lilies.

Thou art fair, my love, as Tirzah, Comely as Jerusalem, Terrible as troops with banners:

Turn away thine eyes from me, For they overcome me. Thy hair is as a flock of goats On the slopes of Gilead.

Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep Which go up from the washing; Which have all borne twins, And none is barren among them.

As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples Behind thy veil.

There are threescore queens, and fourscore concubines, And virgins without number:

My dove, mine undefiled, is but one; She is the only one of her mother, She is the choice one of her that bore her. The daughters saw her, and they called her blessed; The queens and the concubines, and they praised her.

Who is she that looketh forth as the dawn, Fair as the moon, clear as the sun, Terrible as troops with banners?

I went down into the garden of nuts, To see the verdure of the valley, To see whether the vine budded, Whether the pomegranates blossomed.

Before I was aware, My soul set me upon the chariots of my willing people.

Return, return, O Shulamite; Return, return, that we may look upon thee. -- What would ye look upon in the Shulamite? -- As it were the dance of two camps.