“How fair is thy love, my sister, my spouse! how much better is thy love than wine! and the smell of thy ointments than all spices!
“Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb: honey and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.
“A garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.
“Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits; camphire, with spikenard.
“Spikenard and saffron; calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices.
“A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters and streams from Lebanon.
“Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.”
Nan was not able to speak; she had listened with indrawn breath, and her hand had flown upwards to her heart.
“I don’t like that—sugar!” said Silas resentfully. “You liked it, I expect? This suits me better,—
“I will even appoint over you terror, consumption, and the burning ague, that shall consume the eyes and cause sorrow of heart: and ye shall sow your seed in vain, for your enemies shall eat it.