My dove, in clefts of the rock, In a secret place of the ascent, Cause me to see thine appearance, Cause me to hear thy voice, For thy voice is sweet, and thy appearance comely.
Lo, thou art fair, my friend, lo, thou art fair, Thine eyes are doves behind thy veil, Thy hair as a row of the goats That have shone from mount Gilead,
One is my dove, my perfect one, One she is of her mother, The choice one she is of her that bare her, Daughters saw, and pronounce her happy, Queens and concubines, and they praise her.