Your two breasts are like two fawns, like twin gazelles grazing among the lilies.
Your navel is a round goblet, may it not lack mixed wine. Your belly is a heap of wheat enclosed with lilies.
I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine. He browses among the lilies.
My lover is mine, and I am his! He grazes his flocks among the lilies.
As newborn babes, long for pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow toward salvation—
I am a wall, and my breasts like towers. Thus I have become in his eyes as one bringing shalom.
A lovely hind, a graceful doe— may her breasts satisfy you always, may you always be captivated by her love.
O, that you were like a brother to me, who nursed at my mother’s breasts. If I found you outside, I would kiss you, and no one would despise me.
How beautiful and how pleasing you are, O Love, with your delights!
My lover is my pouch of myrrh, passing the night between my breasts.
My lover went down to his garden, to the beds of balsam to graze his flocks in the gardens and to gather lilies.
Your two breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle.