SONG OF SONGS.
Chapter 7.
How beautiful are your feet in their sandals, noble daughter! The curves of your thighs are like ornaments, like the work of an artist’s hands. 
Your navel is a round bowl. May it always be filled with spiced wine. Your waist is a bundle of wheat enclosed in lilies. 
Your breasts are like two fawns, twins of a gazelle. 
Your neck is like an ivory tower. Your eyes are like pools in Heshbon, pools by the gate of Bath Rabbim. Your nose is like a Lebanese tower facing Damascus. 
You hold your head as high as Mount Carmel. Your dangling curls are royal beauty. Your flowing locks could hold a king captive. 
How beautiful and charming you are, my love, with your elegance. 
Young woman, your figure is like a palm tree, and your breasts are like its clusters. 
I thought, “I will climb the palm tree and take hold of its fruit.” May your breasts be like clusters on the vine. May the fragrance of your breath be like apples. 
May your mouth taste like the best wine …  BRIDE  … that goes down smoothly to my beloved and glides over the lips of those about to sleep. 
I am my beloved’s, and he longs for me. 
Come, my beloved. Let’s go into the field. Let’s spend the night among the henna flowers. 
Let’s go to the vineyards early. Let’s see if the vines have budded, if the grape blossoms have opened, if the pomegranates are in bloom. There I will give you my love. 
The mandrakes  give off a fragrance, and at our door are all kinds of precious fruits. I have saved new and old things for you alone, my beloved. 
