His eyes are darker than wine, and his teeth whiter than milk.
Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has strife? Who has complaining? Who has wounds without cause? Who has redness of eyes?
Binding his foal to the vine and his donkey’s colt to the choice vine, he has washed his garments in wine and his vesture in the blood of grapes.
“Zebulun shall dwell at the shore of the sea; he shall become a haven for ships, and his border shall be at Sidon.