Come with me, my bride. Come down from Amana, Senir, Hermon, and from the mountains of leopards. You have ravished my heart with one look of your eyes, one single chain on your neck. Your love is sweet wine. Your oils are better than all other perfumes. Your lips drip honeycomb and milk. The smell of your garments is like the smell of Lebanon. My sister, my bride, you are a locked garden – with springs, and a sealed fountain. You are like a pleasure garden with pomegranates, precious fruits, henna, spikenard, saffron, calamus, and cinnamon. Incense, myrrh, and aloe, with every kind of fine delight. You are a garden fountain, a well. Awaken, north wind, and south wind, blow your scent through his garden.
I have eaten honey with the honeycomb in my garden, I have plucked myrrh and spices. I have drunk milk and wine.