(To Her Beloved)

Tell me, O you whom I love, Where you feed your flock, Where you make it rest at noon. For why should I be as one who veils herself By the flocks of your companions?

The Bridegroom Praises the Bride

The Beloved

Behold, you are fair, my love! Behold, you are fair! You have dove’s eyes behind your veil. Your hair is like a flock of goats, Going down from Mount Gilead.

Your lips are like a strand of scarlet, And your mouth is lovely. Your temples behind your veil Are like a piece of pomegranate.

The watchmen who went about the city found me. They struck me, they wounded me; The keepers of the walls Took my veil away from me.

Like a piece of pomegranate Are your temples behind your veil.