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Song of Solomon 4 ASV

Song 4 ASV, So 4 ASV, Canticle of Canticles 4 ASV, Canticles 4 ASV, Song of Songs 4 ASV, SOS 4 ASV


Song of Solomon 4 ASV

1 Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; Thine eyes are `as' doves behind thy veil. Thy hair is as a flock of goats, That lie along the side of mount Gilead.

2 Thy teeth are like a flock `of ewes' that are `newly' shorn, Which are come up from the washing, Whereof every one hath twins, And none is bereaved among them.

3 Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, And thy mouth is comely. Thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate Behind thy veil.

4 Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armory, Whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, All the shields of the mighty men.

5 Thy two breasts are like two fawns That are twins of a roe, Which feed among the lilies.

6 Until the day be cool, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, And to the hill of frankincense.

7 Thou art all fair, my love; And there is no spot in thee.

8 Come with me from Lebanon, `my' bride, With me from Lebanon: Look from the top of Amana, From the top of Senir and Hermon, From the lions' dens, From the mountains of the leopards.



9 Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, `my' bride; Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, With one chain of thy neck.

10 How fair is thy love, my sister, `my' bride! How much better is thy love than wine! And the fragrance of thine oils than all manner of spices!

11 Thy lips, O `my' bride, drop `as' the honeycomb: Honey and milk are under thy tongue; And the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.

12 A garden shut up is my sister, `my' bride; A spring shut up, a fountain sealed.

13 Thy shoots are an orchard of pomegranates, with precious fruits; Henna with spikenard plants,

14 Spikenard and saffron, Calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; Myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices.

15 `Thou art' a fountain of gardens, A well of living waters, And flowing streams from Lebanon.

16 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 precious fruits.


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