Chapter 4 from Song-of-solomon | Ylt

Lo, thou `art' fair, my friend, lo, thou `art' fair, Thine eyes `are' doves behind thy veil, Thy hair as a row of the goats That have shone from mount Gilead,

Thy teeth as a row of the shorn ones That have come up from the washing, For all of them are forming twins, And a bereaved one is not among them.

As a thread of scarlet `are' thy lips, And thy speech `is' comely, As the work of the pomegranate `is' thy temple behind thy veil,

As the tower of David `is' thy neck, built for an armoury, The chief of the shields are hung on it, All shields of the mighty.

Thy two breasts `are' as two fawns, Twins of a roe, that are feeding among lilies.

Till the day doth break forth, And the shadows have fled away, I will get me unto the mountain of myrrh, And unto the hill of frankincense.

Thou `art' all fair, my friend, And a blemish there is not in thee. Come from Lebanon, O spouse,

Come from Lebanon, come thou in. Look from the top of Amana, From the top of Shenir and Hermon, From the habitations of lions, From the mountains of leopards.

Thou hast emboldened me, my sister-spouse, Emboldened me with one of thine eyes, With one chain of thy neck.

How wonderful have been thy loves, my sister-spouse, How much better have been thy loves than wine, And the fragrance of thy perfumes than all spices.

Thy lips drop honey, O spouse, Honey and milk `are' under thy tongue, And the fragrance of thy garments `Is' as the fragrance of Lebanon.

A garden shut up `is' my sister-spouse, A spring shut up -- a fountain sealed.

Thy shoots a paradise of pomegranates, With precious fruits,

Cypresses with nard -- nard and saffron, Cane and cinnamon, With all trees of frankincense, Myrrh and aloes, with all chief spices.

A fount of gardens, a well of living waters, And flowings from Lebanon!

Awake, O north wind, and come, O south, Cause my garden to breathe forth, its spices let flow, Let my beloved come to his garden, And eat its pleasant fruits!