Song of Songs 4:12
A garden shut up `is' my sister-spouse, A spring shut up -- a fountain sealed.
A garden shut up `is' my sister-spouse, A spring shut up -- a fountain sealed.
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1I have come in to my garden, my sister-spouse, I have plucked my myrrh with my spice, I have eaten my comb with my honey, I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, O friends, drink, Yea, drink abundantly, O beloved ones!
2I am sleeping, but my heart waketh: The sound of my beloved knocking! `Open to me, my sister, my friend, My dove, my perfect one, For my head is filled `with' dew, My locks `with' drops of the night.'
5Thy two breasts `are' as two fawns, Twins of a roe, that are feeding among lilies.
6Till the day doth break forth, And the shadows have fled away, I will get me unto the mountain of myrrh, And unto the hill of frankincense.
7Thou `art' all fair, my friend, And a blemish there is not in thee. Come from Lebanon, O spouse,
8Come from Lebanon, come thou in. Look from the top of Amana, From the top of Shenir and Hermon, From the habitations of lions, From the mountains of leopards.
9Thou hast emboldened me, my sister-spouse, Emboldened me with one of thine eyes, With one chain of thy neck.
10How wonderful have been thy loves, my sister-spouse, How much better have been thy loves than wine, And the fragrance of thy perfumes than all spices.
11Thy lips drop honey, O spouse, Honey and milk `are' under thy tongue, And the fragrance of thy garments `Is' as the fragrance of Lebanon.
13Thy shoots a paradise of pomegranates, With precious fruits,
15A fount of gardens, a well of living waters, And flowings from Lebanon!
16Awake, O north wind, and come, O south, Cause my garden to breathe forth, its spices let flow, Let my beloved come to his garden, And eat its pleasant fruits!
13A bundle of myrrh `is' my beloved to me, Between my breasts it lodgeth.
14A cluster of cypress `is' my beloved to me, In the vineyards of En-Gedi!
1Whither hath thy beloved gone, O fair among women? Whither hath thy beloved turned, And we seek him with thee?
2My beloved went down to his garden, To the beds of the spice, To delight himself in the gardens, and to gather lilies.
3I `am' my beloved's, and my beloved `is' mine, Who is delighting himself among the lilies.
4Fair `art' thou, my friend, as Tirzah, Comely as Jerusalem, Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts.
12We 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;
10My beloved hath answered and said to me, `Rise up, my friend, my fair one, and come away,
9And thy palate as the good wine --' Flowing to my beloved in uprightness, Strengthening the lips of the aged!
10I `am' my beloved's, and on me `is' his desire.
16My beloved `is' mine, and I `am' his, Who is delighting among the lilies,
18Let thy fountain be blessed, And rejoice because of the wife of thy youth,
19A hind of loves, and a roe of grace! Let her loves satisfy thee at all times, In her love magnify thyself continually.
1As a lily among the thorns,
2So `is' my friend among the daughters!
3As 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.
4He hath brought me in unto a house of wine, And his banner over me `is' love,
4I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, How ye stir up, And how ye wake the love till she please!
5Who `is' this coming from the wilderness, Hasting herself for her beloved? Under the citron-tree I have waked thee, There did thy mother pledge thee, There she gave a pledge `that' bare thee.
8We have a little sister, and breasts she hath not, What do we do for our sister, In the day that it is told of her?
9If she is a wall, we build by her a palace of silver. And if she is a door, We fashion by her board-work of cedar.
16His mouth is sweetness -- and all of him desirable, This `is' my beloved, and this my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem!
2Let him kiss me with kisses of his mouth, For better `are' thy loves than wine.
13The companions are attending to thy voice, Cause me to hear. Flee, my beloved, and be like to a roe,
14Or to a young one of the harts on mountains of spices!
13The fig-tree hath ripened her green figs, And the sweet-smelling vines have given forth fragrance, Rise, come, my friend, my fair one, yea, come away.
14My 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.
9One is my dove, my perfect one, One she `is' of her mother, The choice one she `is' of her that bare her, Daughters saw, and pronounce her happy, Queens and concubines, and they praise her.
4But a little I passed on from them, Till I found him whom my soul hath loved! I seized him, and let him not go, Till I brought him in unto the house of my mother -- And the chamber of her that conceived me.
5I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes or by the hinds of the field, Stir not up nor wake the love till she please!
6Who `is' this coming up from the wilderness, Like palm-trees of smoke, Perfumed `with' myrrh and frankincense, From every powder of the merchant?
1Lo, thou `art' fair, my friend, lo, thou `art' fair, Thine eyes `are' doves behind thy veil, Thy hair as a row of the goats That have shone from mount Gilead,
4Draw me: after thee we run, The king hath brought me into his inner chambers, We do joy and rejoice in thee, We mention thy loves more than wine, Uprightly they have loved thee!
3As a thread of scarlet `are' thy lips, And thy speech `is' comely, As the work of the pomegranate `is' thy temple behind thy veil,
1Let me sing, I pray you, for my beloved, A song of my beloved as to his vineyard: My beloved hath a vineyard in a fruitful hill,
16Lo, thou `art' fair, my love, yea, pleasant, Yea, our couch `is' green,
5I rose to open to my beloved, And my hands dropped myrrh, Yea, my fingers flowing myrrh, On the handles of the lock.
7I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes or by the hinds of the field, Stir not up nor wake the love till she please!