Together in the Garden

Where has your beloved gone,

O most beautiful among women?

Which way has he turned?

We will seek him with you.

My beloved has gone down to his garden,

to the beds of spices,

to pasture his flock in the gardens

and to gather lilies.

I belong to my beloved and he belongs to me;

he pastures his flock among the lilies.

You are as beautiful, my darling, as Tirzah,

as lovely as Jerusalem,

as majestic as troops with banners.

Turn your eyes away from me,

for they have overcome me.

Your hair is like a flock of goats

streaming down from Gilead.

Your teeth are like a flock of sheep

coming up from the washing;

each has its twin,

and not one of them is lost.

Your brow behind your veil

is like a slice of pomegranate.

There are sixty queens and eighty concubines,

and maidens without number,

but my dove, my perfect one, is unique,

the favorite of the mother who bore her.

The maidens see her and call her blessed;

the queens and concubines sing her praises.

Who is this who shines like the dawn,

as fair as the moon,

as bright as the sun,

as majestic as the stars in procession?

I went down to the walnut grove

to see the blossoms of the valley,

to see if the vines were budding

or the pomegranates were in bloom.

Before I realized it, my desire had set me

among the royal chariots of my people.

Come back, come back, O Shulammite!

Come back, come back, that we may gaze upon you.

Why do you look at the Shulammite,

as on the dance of Mahanaim?