[1] Which way did your lover go, you who are the most beautiful of women? Which way did your lover turn, that we may look for him along with you? [2] My lover has gone down to his garden, to the fragrant plantings, to graze in the gardens, to gather the lilies. [3] I belong to my lover and my lover belongs to me—the one grazing among the lilies. [4] You are as beautiful, my dearest, as Tirzah, as lovely as Jerusalem, formidable as those lofty sights. [5] Turn your eyes away from me, for they overwhelm me! Your hair is like a flock of goats as they stream down from Gilead. [6] Your teeth are like a flock of ewes as they come up from the washing pool—all of them perfectly matched, not one of them lacks its twin. [7] Like a slice of pomegranate is the curve of your face behind the veil of your hair. [8] There may be sixty queens and eighty secondary wives, young women beyond counting, [9] but my dove, my perfect one, is one of a kind. To her mother she’s the only one, radiant to the one who bore her. Young women see her and declare her fortunate; queens and secondary wives praise her. [10] Who is this, gazing down like the morning star, beautiful as the full moon, radiant as the sun, formidable as those lofty sights? [11] To the nut grove I went down to look upon the fresh growth in the valley, to see whether the vine was in flower, whether the pomegranates had bloomed. [12] I hardly knew myself; she had set me in an official’s chariot! [13] Come back, come back, Shulammite! Come back, come back, so we may admire you. How you all admire the Shulammite as she whirls between two circles of dancers!
