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.
I was asleep, but my heart waked: It is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: For my head is filled with dew, My locks with the drops of the night.