Chapter 7

  As the chorus of 'Mahanaim.' How beautiful were thy feet with sandals, O daughter of Nadib. The turnings of thy sides [are] as ornaments, Work of the hands of an artificer.  

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  Thy waist [is] a basin of roundness, It lacketh not the mixture, Thy body a heap of wheat, fenced with lilies,  

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  Thy two breasts as two young ones, twins of a roe,  

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  Thy neck as a tower of the ivory, Thine eyes pools in Heshbon, near the gate of Bath-Rabbim, Thy face as a tower of Lebanon looking to Damascus,  

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  Thy head upon thee as Carmel, And the locks of thy head as purple, The king is bound with the flowings!  

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  How fair and how pleasant hast thou been, O love, in delights.  

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  This thy stature hath been like to a palm, And thy breasts to clusters.  

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  I said, 'Let me go up on the palm, Let me lay hold on its boughs, Yea, let thy breasts be, I pray thee, as clusters of the vine, And the fragrance of thy face as citrons,  

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  And thy palate as the good wine --' Flowing to my beloved in uprightness, Strengthening the lips of the aged!  

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  I [am] my beloved's, and on me [is] his desire.  

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  Come, my beloved, we go forth to the field,  

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  We lodge in the villages, we go early to the vineyards, We see if the vine hath flourished, The sweet smelling-flower hath opened. The pomegranates have blossomed, There do I give to thee my loves;  

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  The mandrakes have given fragrance, And at our openings all pleasant things, New, yea, old, my beloved, I laid up for thee!  

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