My dove, in the clefts of the rock, in a secret place along the steep path, let me see your form, let me hear your voice. For your voice is sweet and your form is lovely.”
How lovely you are, my darling, how lovely! Your eyes are doves behind your veil. Your hair is like a flock of ewe goats descending down from Mount Gilead.
Yet my dove, my perfect one is unique. She is her mother’s only one— a virtuous child of the one who bore her. Maidens saw her and called her blessed. Queens and concubines praised her.