Song of Solomon 4
aligned by seat — same row, same verse, whatever each bible numbers it
| v | JPS1917 |
|---|---|
| 1 | 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 trail down from mount Gilead. |
| 2 | Thy teeth are like a flock of ewes all shaped alike, Which are come up from the washing; Whereof all are paired, and none faileth among them. |
| 3 | Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, And thy mouth is comely; Thy temples are like a pomegranate split open Behind thy veil. |
| 4 | Thy neck is like the tower of David Builded with turrets, Whereon there hang a thousand shields, All the armour of the mighty men. |
| 5 | Thy two breasts are like two fawns That are twins of a gazelle, Which feed among the lilies. |
| 6 | Until the day breathe, And the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, And to the hill of frankincense. |
| 7 | Thou art all fair, my love; And there is no spot in thee. |
| 8 | Come with me from Lebanon, my bride, With me from Lebanon; Look from the top of Amana, From the top of Senir and Hermon, From the lions’dens, From the mountains of the leopards. |
| 9 | Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my bride; Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, With one bead of thy necklace. |
| 10 | How fair is thy love, my sister, my bride! How much better is thy love than wine! And the smell of thine ointments than all manner of spices! |
| 11 | Thy lips, O my bride, drop honey— Honey and milk are under thy tongue; And the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon. |
| 12 | A garden shut up is my sister, my bride; A spring shut up, a fountain sealed. |
| 13 | Thy shoots are a park of pomegranates, With precious fruits; Henna with spikenard plants, |
| 14 | Spikenard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, With all trees of frankincense; Myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices. |
| 15 | Thou art a fountain of gardens, A well of living waters, And flowing streams from Lebanon. |
| 16 | Awake, O north wind; And come, thou south; Blow upon my garden, That the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, And eat his precious fruits. |