His eyes will be darker than wine, his teeth whiter than milk.
He will tether his donkey to a vine, his colt to the choicest branch; he will wash his garments in wine, his robes in the blood of grapes.
“Zebulun will live by the seashore and become a haven for ships; his border will extend toward Sidon.
Who has woe? Who has sorrow? Who has strife? Who has complaints? Who has needless bruises? Who has bloodshot eyes?