Song of Songs 8

₁I wish that you were my brother,

that my mother had nursed you at her breast.

Then, if I met you in the street,

I could kiss you and no one would mind.

₂I would take you to my mother's house,

where you could teach me love.

I would give you spiced wine,

my pomegranate wine to drink.

₃Your left hand is under my head,

and your right hand caresses me.

₄Promise me, women of Jerusalem,

that you will not interrupt our love.

₅Who is this coming from the desert,

arm in arm with her lover?

Under the apple tree I woke you,

in the place where you were born.

₆Close your heart to every love but mine;

hold no one in your arms but me.

Love is as powerful as death;

passion is as strong as death itself.

It bursts into flame

and burns like a raging fire.

₇Water cannot put it out;

no flood can drown it.

But if anyone tried to buy love with wealth,

contempt is all they would get.

₈We have a young sister,

and her breasts are still small.

What will we do for her

when a young man comes courting?

₉If she is a wall,

we will build her a silver tower.

But if she is a gate,

we will protect her with panels of cedar.

₁₀I am a wall,

and my breasts are its towers.

My lover knows that with him

I find contentment and peace.

₁₁Solomon has a vineyard

in a place called Baal Hamon.

There are farmers who rent it from him;

each one pays a thousand silver coins.

₁₂Solomon is welcome to his thousand coins,

and the farmers to 200 as their share;

I have a vineyard of my own!

₁₃Let me hear your voice from the garden, my love;

my companions are waiting to hear you speak.

₁₄Come to me, my lover, like a gazelle,

like a young stag on the mountains where spices grow.