Song of Songs.
Chapter 7.
As the chorus of “Mahanaim.” How beautiful were your feet with sandals, O daughter of Nadib. The turnings of your sides are as ornaments, || Work of the hands of a craftsman. 
Your waist is a basin of roundness, || It does not lack the mixture, || Your body a heap of wheat, fenced with lilies, 
Your two breasts as two young ones, twins of a roe, 
Your neck as a tower of the ivory, || Your eyes pools in Heshbon, near the Gate of Bath-Rabbim, || Your face as a tower of Lebanon looking to Damascus, 
Your head on you as Carmel, || And the locks of your head as purple, || The king is bound with the flowings! 
How beautiful and how pleasant you have been, || O love, in delights. 
This your stature has been like to a palm, || And your breasts to clusters. 
I said, “Let me go up on the palm, || Let me lay hold on its boughs,” || Indeed, let your breasts now be as clusters of the vine, || And the fragrance of your face as citrons, 
And your palate as the good wine—Flowing to my beloved in uprightness, || Strengthening the lips of the aged! 
I am my beloved’s, and on me is his desire. 
Come, my beloved, we go forth to the field, 
We lodge in the villages, we go early to the vineyards, || We see if the vine has flourished, || The sweet smelling-flower has opened. The pomegranates have blossomed, || There I give to you my loves; 
The mandrakes have given fragrance, || And at our openings all pleasant things, || New, indeed, old, my beloved, I laid up for you! 
