م ا أجمَلَكِ يا حَبِيبَتِي! ما أجمَلَكِ! عَيناكِ كَيَمامَتَينِ خَلفَ نِقابِكِ. شَعْرُكِ كَقَطِيعِ ماعِزٍ يَنحَدِرُ مِنْ عَلَى جَبَلِ جِلْعادَ.
Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; Thine eyes are doves behind thy veil; Thy hair is as a flock of goats, On the slopes of mount Gilead.
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