My beloved is gone down to 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, O my love, as Tirzah, Comely as Jerusalem, Terrible as an army with banners. Turn away thine eyes from me, For they have overcome me. Thy hair is as a flock of goats, That lie along the side of Gilead. Thy teeth are like a flock of ewes, Which are come up from the washing; Whereof every one hath twins, And none is bereaved among them. Thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate Behind thy veil. There are threescore queens, and fourscore concubines, And virgins without number. 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 called her blessed; Yea, the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.
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