Song of Solomon

Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners?

My dove, my undefiled is but one; she is the only one of her mother, she is the choice one of her that bare her. The daughters saw her, and blessed her; yea, the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.

There are threescore queens, and fourscore concubines, and virgins without number.

As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples within thy locks.

Thy teeth are as a flock of sheep which go up from the washing, whereof every one beareth twins, and there is not one barren among them.

Turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome me: thy hair is as a flock of goats that appear from Gilead.

Thou art beautiful, O my love, as Tirzah, comely as Jerusalem, terrible as an army with banners.

I am my beloved"s, and my beloved is mine: he feedeth among the lilies.

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

Whither is thy beloved gone, O thou fairest among women? whither is thy beloved turned aside? that we may seek him with thee.

His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.

His legs are as pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold: his countenance is as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.

His hands are as gold rings set with the beryl: his belly is as bright ivory overlaid with sapphires.

His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips like lilies, dropping sweet smelling myrrh.

His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.

His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black as a raven.

My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.

What is thy beloved more than another beloved, O thou fairest among women? what is thy beloved more than another beloved, that thou dost so charge us?

I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love.

The watchmen that went about the city found me, they smote me, they wounded me; the keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.

I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone: my soul failed when he spake: I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.

I rose up to open to my beloved; and my hands dropped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.

My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door, and my bowels were moved for him.

I have put off my coat; how shall I put it on? I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse: I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk: eat, O friends; drink, yea, drink abundantly, O beloved.

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 pleasant fruits.

A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon.

Spikenard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices:

Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits; camphire, with spikenard,