Song of Songs 6:4-5,7-13 - Compare All Versions

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You are as beautiful as Tirzah, my darling, as lovely as Jerusalem, as majestic as troops with banners. Turn your eyes from me; they overwhelm me. Your hair is like a flock of goats descending from Gilead.

Your temples behind your veil are like the halves of a pomegranate. Sixty queens there may be, and eighty concubines, and virgins beyond number; but my dove, my perfect one, is unique, the only daughter of her mother, the favorite of the one who bore her. The young women saw her and called her blessed; the queens and concubines praised her. Who is this that appears like the dawn, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, majestic as the stars in procession? I went down to the grove of nut trees to look at the new growth in the valley, to see if the vines had budded or the pomegranates were in bloom. Before I realized it, my desire set me among the royal chariots of my people. Come back, come back, O Shulammite; come back, come back, that we may gaze on you!

You are beautiful as Tirzah, my love, lovely as Jerusalem, awesome as an army with banners. Turn away your eyes from me, for they overwhelm me— Your hair is like a flock of goats leaping down the slopes of Gilead.

Your cheeks are like halves of a pomegranate behind your veil. There are sixty queens and eighty concubines, and virgins without number. My dove, my perfect one, is the only one, the only one of her mother, pure to her who bore her. The young women saw her and called her blessed; the queens and concubines also, and they praised her. “Who is this who looks down like the dawn, beautiful as the moon, bright as the sun, awesome as an army with banners?” I went down to the nut orchard to look at the blossoms of the valley, to see whether the vines had budded, whether the pomegranates were in bloom. Before I was aware, my desire set me among the chariots of my kinsman, a prince. Return, return, O Shulammite, return, return, that we may look upon you.

You are beautiful, my darling, like the lovely city of Tirzah. Yes, as beautiful as Jerusalem, as majestic as an army with billowing banners. Turn your eyes away, for they overpower me. Your hair falls in waves, like a flock of goats winding down the slopes of Gilead.

Your cheeks are like rosy pomegranates behind your veil. Even among sixty queens and eighty concubines and countless young women, I would still choose my dove, my perfect one— the favorite of her mother, dearly loved by the one who bore her. The young women see her and praise her; even queens and royal concubines sing her praises: “Who is this, arising like the dawn, as fair as the moon, as bright as the sun, as majestic as an army with billowing banners?” I went down to the grove of walnut trees and out to the valley to see the new spring growth, to see whether the grapevines had budded or the pomegranates were in bloom. Before I realized it, my strong desires had taken me to the chariot of a noble man. Return, return to us, O maid of Shulam. Come back, come back, that we may see you again.

You are as beautiful as Tirzah, my darling, lovely as Jerusalem, awe-inspiring as an army with banners.  Turn your eyes away from me, for they captivate me.  Your hair is like a flock of goats streaming down from Gilead.

Behind your veil,  your brow  is like a slice of pomegranate. There are sixty queens and eighty concubines  and young women  without number. But my dove,  my virtuous one, is unique;  she is the favorite of her mother, perfect to the one who gave her birth. Women see her and declare her fortunate;  queens and concubines also, and they sing her praises: Who is this  who shines like the dawn, as beautiful as the moon, bright as the sun, awe-inspiring as an army with banners?  I came down to the walnut grove to see the blossoms of the valley, to see if the vines were budding  and the pomegranates blooming. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I felt like I was in a chariot with a nobleman.  Come back, come back, Shulammite!  Come back, come back, that we may look at you!

Thou art beautiful, O my love, as Tirzah, Comely as Jerusalem, Terrible as an army with banners. Turn away thine eyes from me, For they have overcome me: Thy hair is as a flock of goats That appear from Gilead.

As a piece of a pomegranate are thy temples Within thy locks. There are threescore queens, and fourscore concubines, And virgins without number. My dove, my undefiled is but one; She is the only one of her mother, She is the choice one of her that bare her. The daughters saw her, and blessed her; Yea, the queens and the concubines, and they praised her. Who is she that looketh forth as the morning, Fair as the moon, clear as the sun, And terrible as an army with banners? I went down into the garden of nuts To see the fruits of the valley, And to see whether the vine flourished, And the pomegranates budded. Or ever I was aware, My soul made me like the chariots of Amminadib. Return, return, O Shulamite; Return, return, that we may look upon thee.

O my love, you are as beautiful as Tirzah, Lovely as Jerusalem, Awesome as an army with banners! Turn your eyes away from me, For they have overcome me. Your hair is like a flock of goats Going down from Gilead.

Like a piece of pomegranate Are your temples behind your veil. There are sixty queens And eighty concubines, And virgins without number. My dove, my perfect one, Is the only one, The only one of her mother, The favorite of the one who bore her. The daughters saw her And called her blessed, The queens and the concubines, And they praised her. Who is she who looks forth as the morning, Fair as the moon, Clear as the sun, Awesome as an army with banners? I went down to the garden of nuts To see the verdure of the valley, To see whether the vine had budded And the pomegranates had bloomed. Before I was even aware, My soul had made me As the chariots of my noble people. Return, return, O Shulamite; Return, return, that we may look upon you!

Dear, dear friend and lover, you’re as beautiful as Tirzah, city of delights, Lovely as Jerusalem, city of dreams, the ravishing visions of my ecstasy. Your beauty is too much for me—I’m in over my head. I’m not used to this! I can’t take it in. Your hair flows and shimmers like a flock of goats in the distance streaming down a hillside in the sunshine. Your smile is generous and full— expressive and strong and clean. Your veiled cheeks are soft and radiant.

Dear, dear friend and lover, you’re as beautiful as Tirzah, city of delights, Lovely as Jerusalem, city of dreams, the ravishing visions of my ecstasy. Your beauty is too much for me—I’m in over my head. I’m not used to this! I can’t take it in. Your hair flows and shimmers like a flock of goats in the distance streaming down a hillside in the sunshine. Your smile is generous and full— expressive and strong and clean. Your veiled cheeks are soft and radiant. There’s no one like her on earth, never has been, never will be. She’s a woman beyond compare. My dove is perfection, Pure and innocent as the day she was born, and cradled in joy by her mother. Everyone who came by to see her exclaimed and admired her— All the fathers and mothers, the neighbors and friends, blessed and praised her: “Has anyone ever seen anything like this— dawn-fresh, moon-lovely, sun-radiant, ravishing as the night sky with its galaxies of stars?” One day I went strolling through the orchard, looking for signs of spring, Looking for buds about to burst into flower, anticipating readiness, ripeness. Before I knew it my heart was raptured, carried away by lofty thoughts! Dance, dance, dear Shulammite, Angel-Princess! Dance, and we’ll feast our eyes on your grace! Everyone wants to see the Shulammite dance her victory dances of love and peace.

¶“You are as beautiful as Tirzah, my darling, As lovely as Jerusalem, As awesome as an army with banners. “Turn your eyes away from me, For they have confused me; Your hair is like a flock of goats That have descended from Gilead.

“Your temples are like a slice of a pomegranate Behind your veil. “There are sixty queens and eighty concubines, And young women without number; But my dove, my perfect one, is unique: She is her mother’s only daughter; She is the pure child of the one who gave birth to her. The young women saw her and called her blessed, The queens and the concubines also, and they praised her, saying, ¶‘Who is this who looks down like the dawn, As beautiful as the full moon, As pure as the sun, As awesome as an army with banners?’ “I went down to the orchard of nut trees To see the plants of the valley, To see whether the vine had grown Or the pomegranates had bloomed. “Before I was aware, my soul set me Over the chariots of my noble people.” ¶“Come back, come back, O Shulammite; Come back, come back, so that we may look at you!”

¶“You are as beautiful as Tirzah, my darling, As lovely as Jerusalem, As majestic as an army with banners! “Turn your [flashing] eyes away from me, For they have confused and overcome me; Your hair is like [the shimmering black fleece of] a flock of [Arabian] goats That have descended from Mount Gilead.

“Your temples are like a slice of the pomegranate Behind your veil. “There are sixty queens and eighty concubines, And maidens without number; But my dove, my perfect one, stands alone [above them all]; She is her mother’s only daughter; She is the pure child of the one who bore her. The maidens saw her and called her blessed and happy, The queens and the concubines also, and they praised her, saying, [Col 2:8, 9] ¶‘Who is this that looks down like the dawn, Fair and beautiful as the full moon, Clear and pure as the sun, As majestic as an army with banners?’ “I went down to the orchard of nut trees To see the flowers of the valley, To see whether the grapevine had budded And the pomegranates were in flower. “Before I was aware [of what was happening], my desire had brought me Into the area of the princes of my people [the king’s retinue].” ¶“Return, return, O Shulammite; Return, return, that we may gaze at you.”

My darling, you are as beautiful as Tirzah, as lovely as Jerusalem, as awe-inspiring as bannered armies! Turn your eyes away from me – they overwhelm me! Your hair is like a flock of goats descending from Mount Gilead.

Like a slice of pomegranate is your forehead behind your veil. There may be sixty queens, and eighty concubines, and young women without number. But she is unique! My dove, my perfect one! She is the special daughter of her mother, she is the favorite of the one who bore her. The maidens saw her and complimented her; the queens and concubines praised her: “Who is this who appears like the dawn? Beautiful as the moon, bright as the sun, awe-inspiring as the stars in procession?” I went down to the orchard of walnut trees, to look for the blossoms of the valley, to see if the vines had budded or if the pomegranates were in bloom. I was beside myself with joy! There please give me your myrrh, O daughter of my princely people. (7:1) Turn, turn, O Perfect One! Turn, turn, that I may stare at you!