O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the covert of the cliff, let me see your face; let me hear your voice, for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely.
How beautiful you are, my love, how very beautiful! Your eyes are doves behind your veil. Your hair is like a flock of goats, moving down the slopes of Gilead.
My dove, my perfect one, is the only one, the darling of her mother, flawless to her who bore her. The maidens saw her and called her happy; the queens and concubines praised her.