Thy speech is comely, better is thy love to Me
Than wine! Thine eyes as Heshbon's fish-pools, and like flocks
Upon Mount Gilead are thy spiced and flower-decked locks.
The winter's past, My Dove, come, come with Me away,
Far spent the night, make ready for thy nuptial day!”
My heart responds, “Throughout the many-centuried night
I've longed for Thee. I've waited for the dawning light;
And I have laid Thee like sweet myrrh upon my breast,
Thine arm beneath my weary head hath brought me rest.
Thou whom my soul doth love, Thy countenance is fair