1 Whither is thy friend gone, O fairest of women? whither hath thy friend turned himself? that we may seek him with thee?— 2 My beloved is gone down to his garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies. 3 I am my friend's, and my friend is mine: he that feedeth among the lilies.— 4 Thou art beautiful, O my beloved, like Thirzah, comely like Jerusalem, terrible as armies encamped round their banners. 5 Turn away thy eyes from me, for they have excited me: thy hair is like a flock of goats that come quietly down from mount Gil'ad. 6 Thy teeth are like a flock of ewes which are come up from the washing, all of which bear twins, and there is not one among them that is deprived of her young. 7 Like the half of the pomegranate is the upper part of thy cheek behind thy vail. 8 Sixty are the queens, and eighty the concubines, and the young women without number; 9 But one alone is my dove, my guiltless one; she is the only one of her mother, she is the chosen of her that bore her: maidens see her, and call her happy; yea, queens and concubines, and praise her. 10 Who is this that shineth forth like the morning-dawn, beautiful as the moon, bright as the sun, terrible as armies encamped round their banners? 11 Into the nut-garden was I gone down, to look about among the plants of the valley, to see whether the vine had blossomed, whether the pomegranates had budded. 12 I knew not how it was, my soul made me like the chariots of my noble people. 13 (7:1) Return, return, O Shulammith; return, return, that we may look upon thee. “What will ye see in the Shulammith?” As though it were the dance of a double company.