Cânticos 4— comparação

1Eis que você é linda, meu amor.

2Seus dentes são como um rebanho recém-tosquiado,

3Seus lábios são como um fio escarlate.

4Seu pescoço é como a torre de Davi, construída para ser um arsenal,

5Seus dois seios são como dois filhotes,

6Até que o dia esfrie e as sombras fujam,

7Você é toda linda, meu amor.

8Venha comigo do Líbano, minha noiva,

9Você arrebatou o meu coração, minha irmã, minha noiva.

10Como é lindo o seu amor, minha irmã, minha noiva!

11Seus lábios, minha noiva, gotejam como o favo de mel.

12Minha irmã, minha noiva, é um jardim fechado;

13Seus renovos são um pomar de romãs, com frutos preciosos,

14nardo e açafrão,

15uma fonte de jardins,

16Desperte, vento norte, e venha, vento sul!

1Behold, you are beautiful, my love. Behold, you are beautiful. Your eyes are like doves behind your veil. Your hair is as a flock of goats, that descend from Mount Gilead.

2Your teeth are like a newly shorn flock, which have come up from the washing, where every one of them has twins. None is bereaved among them.

3Your lips are like scarlet thread. Your mouth is lovely. Your temples are like a piece of a pomegranate behind your veil.

4Your neck is like David’s tower built for an armory, on which a thousand shields hang, all the shields of the mighty men.

5Your two breasts are like two fawns that are twins of a roe, which feed among the lilies.

6Until the day is cool, and the shadows flee away, I will go to the mountain of myrrh, to the hill of frankincense.

7You are all beautiful, my love. There is no spot in you.

8Come 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.

9You have ravished my heart, my sister, my bride. You have ravished my heart with one of your eyes, with one chain of your neck.

10How beautiful is your love, my sister, my bride! How much better is your love than wine, the fragrance of your perfumes than all kinds of spices!

11Your lips, my bride, drip like the honeycomb. Honey and milk are under your tongue. The smell of your garments is like the smell of Lebanon.

12My sister, my bride, is a locked up garden; a locked up spring, a sealed fountain.

13Your shoots are an orchard of pomegranates, with precious fruits, henna with spikenard plants,

14spikenard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, with every kind of incense tree; myrrh and aloes, with all the best spices,

15a fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, flowing streams from Lebanon. Beloved

16Awake, north wind, and come, you south! Blow on my garden, that its spices may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and taste his precious fruits.