Why is this language lost to us? It has more beauty than every love song combined.
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth. For thy love is better than wine. His fruit was sweet to my taste. His left hand is under my head and his right hand doth embrace me. Behold, thou art fair, my love. Behold, thou art fair. Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet. Thine eyes are as doves behind the veil. And comely is thy mouth. Thy two breasts are like fawns feeding among the lilies. Thy navel is like a round goblet... wherein no mingled wine is wanting. Thy belly is like a heap of wheat, set about with lilies. Let thy breasts be as clusters on the vine. And thy mouth like the best wine. Open to me my dove, for my head is filled with the drops of the night. Come, my beloved, let us see if the vine flourishes... and the tender grapes appear... and the pomegranates bud forth."
