O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, In the secret places of the stairs, Let me see thy countenance, Let me hear thy voice; For sweet is thy voice, And thy countenance is comely.
Behold, thou art fair, my love; Behold, thou art fair; Thou hast doves' eyes Within thy locks: Thy hair is as a flock of goats, That appear from mount Gilead.
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.