Song of Songs 8:1-7

If only I could treat you like my brother,  one who nursed at my mother’s breasts, I would find you in public and kiss you, and no one would scorn me. I would lead you, I would take you, to the house of my mother  who taught me.  I would give you spiced wine to drink from the juice of my pomegranate. May his left hand be under my head, and his right arm embrace me.  Young women of Jerusalem, I charge you, do not stir up or awaken love until the appropriate time.  Who is this  coming up from the wilderness, leaning on the one she loves? I awakened you under the apricot tree.  There your mother conceived you; there she conceived and gave you birth. Set me as a seal on your heart, as a seal on your arm.  For love is as strong as death;  jealousy is as unrelenting as Sheol. Love’s flames are fiery flames   — an almighty flame!  A huge torrent cannot extinguish love; rivers cannot sweep it away. If a man were to give all his wealth  for love,  it would be utterly scorned.