Song of Songs.
Chapter 6.
To where has your beloved gone, || O beautiful among women? To where has your beloved turned, || And we seek him with you? 
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. 
You are beautiful, my friend, as Tirzah, lovely as Jerusalem, || Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts. 
Turn around your eyes from before me, || Because they have made me proud. Your hair is as a row of the goats, || That have shone from Gilead, 
Your 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 them. 
As the work of the pomegranate is your temple behind your veil. 
Sixty are queens, and eighty concubines, || And virgins without number. 
One is my dove, my perfect one, || She is one of her mother, || She is the choice one of her that bore her, || Daughters saw, and pronounce her blessed, || Queens and concubines, and they praise her. 
“Who is this that is looking forth as morning, || Beautiful as the moon—clear as the sun, || Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts?” 
To a garden of nuts I went down, || To look on the buds of the valley, || To see to where the vine had flourished, || The pomegranates had blossomed— 
I did not know my soul, || It made me—chariots of my people Nadib. 
Return, return, O Shulammith! Return, return, and we look on you. What do you see in Shulammith? 
