Song of Songs.
Chapter 8.
Who makes you as a brother to me, || Suckling the breasts of my mother? I find you outside, I kiss you, || Indeed, they do not despise me, 
I lead you, I bring you into my mother’s house, || She teaches me, I cause you to drink of the spiced wine, || Of the juice of my pomegranate, 
His left hand is under my head, || And his right embraces me. 
I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, || How you stir up, || And how you wake the love until she pleases! 
Who is this coming from the wilderness, || Hastening herself for her beloved? Under the citron-tree I have awoken you, || There your mother pledged you, || There she who bore you gave a pledge. 
Set me as a seal on your heart, as a seal on your arm, || For strong as death is love, || Sharp as Sheol is jealousy, || Its burnings are burnings of fire, a flame of YAH! 
Many waters are not able to quench the love, || And floods do not wash it away. If one gives all the wealth of his house for love, || Treading down—they tread on it. 
We have a little sister, and she does not have breasts, || What do we do for our sister, || In the day that it is told of her? 
If she is a wall, we build by her a palace of silver. And if she is a door, || We fashion by her board-work of cedar. 
I am a wall, and my breasts as towers, || Then I have been in his eyes as one finding peace. 
Solomon has a vineyard in Ba‘al-Hamon, || He has given the vineyard to keepers, || Each brings for its fruit one thousand pieces of silver; 
My vineyard—my own—is before me, || The one thousand is for you, O Solomon. And the two hundred for those keeping its fruit. O dweller in gardens! 
The companions are attending to your voice, || Cause me to hear. Flee, my beloved, and be like to a roe, 
Or to a young one of the harts on mountains of spices!
