CHAPTER 6
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.
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
is lost.
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
in bloom.
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?