O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the covert of the steep place, 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; Thine eyes are as doves behind thy veil: Thy hair is as a flock of goats, That lie along the side of 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 called her blessed; Yea, the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.