As a citron among trees of the forest, So [is] my beloved among the sons, In his shade I delighted, and sat down, And his fruit [is] sweet to my palate.
My beloved [is] like to a roe, Or to a young one of the harts. Lo, this -- he is standing behind our wall, Looking from the windows, Blooming from the lattice.
My dove, in clefts of the rock, In a secret place of the ascent, Cause me to see thine appearance, Cause me to hear thy voice, For thy voice [is] sweet, and thy appearance comely.
Till the day doth break forth, And the shadows have fled away, Turn, be like, my beloved, To a roe, or to a young one of the harts, On the mountains of separation!