You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride; 

    you have stolen my heart

with one glance of your eyes,

    with one jewel of your necklace. 

How delightful is your love , my sister, my bride!

    How much more pleasing is your love than wine, 

and the fragrance of your perfume 

    more than any spice!

Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride;

    milk and honey are under your tongue. 

The fragrance of your garments

    is like the fragrance of Lebanon. 

You are a garden locked up, my sister, my bride; 

    you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain. 

Your plants are an orchard of pomegranates 

    with choice fruits,

    with henna and nard,

    nard and saffron,

    calamus and cinnamon, 

    with every kind of incense tree,

    with myrrh and aloes 

    and all the finest spices. 

You are a garden fountain, 

    a well of flowing water

    streaming down from Lebanon.