Whither hath thy beloved gone, O fair among women? Whither
hath thy beloved turned, And we seek him with thee?
My beloved went down to his garden, To the beds of the
spice, To delight himself in the gardens, and to gather lilies.
I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine, Who
is delighting himself among the lilies.
Fair art thou, my friend, as Tirzah, Comely as
Jerusalem, Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts.
Turn round thine eyes from before me, Because they have made
me proud. Thy hair is as a row of the goats, That have shone from
Thy teeth as a row of the lambs, That have come up from the
washing, Because all of them are forming twins, And a bereaved one is not among
As the work of the pomegranate is thy temple behind
Sixty are queens, and eighty concubines, And virgins without
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.
'Who is this that is looking forth as morning, Fair
as the moon -- clear as the sun, Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts?'
Unto a garden of nuts I went down, To look on the buds of
the valley, To see whither the vine had flourished, The pomegranates had
I knew not my soul, It made me -- chariots of my people
Return, return, O Shulammith! Return, return, and we look
upon thee. What do ye see in Shulammith?