O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, In the covert of the steep place, Let me see thy countenance, Let me hear thy voice; For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.
Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; Thine eyes are (as) doves behind thy veil. Thy hair is as a flock of goats, That lie along the side of mount Gilead.
Thou art fair, O my love, as Tirzah, Comely as Jerusalem, Terrible as an army with banners.