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.
I sleep, but my heart is awake. A voice! My lover is knocking! “Open to me, my sister, my darling, my dove, my perfect one! For my head is drenched with dew, my locks with dewdrops of night.”
Oy , those going down to Egypt for help. They are relying on horses, trusting in chariots since they are many, and in horsemen since they are very mighty, but do not look to the Holy One of Israel nor seek Adonai!