Him (to the winds): Rise, you north wind; come, you south wind. Breathe on my garden, and let the fragrance of its natural spices fill the air. Her: Let my love come into his garden and feast from its choice fruits.

Her (to him): If only you were like my brother, my love, nursed at my mother’s breast! Then we could show our affection in public. I would kiss you, and no one would think anything of it. Nobody would look down on me.

Young Women of Jerusalem: Who is this woman coming up from the desert, leaning on her love? Her: Under the apple tree I roused your love for me, in the place where your mother conceived you, in the place where she gave birth to you.