אָנָה הָלַךְ דּוֹדֵךְ הַיָּפָה בַּנָּשִׁים אָנָה פָּנָה דוֹדֵךְ וּנְבַקְשֶׁנּוּ עִמָּךְ

The daughters of Jerusalem respond in unison: Where did your beloved go, fairest of women? Where did your beloved turn? We will seek him with you.

דּוֹדִי יָרַד לְגַנּוֹ לַעֲרֻגוֹת הַבֹּשֶׂם לִרְעוֹת בַּגַּנִּים וְלִלְקֹט שׁוֹשַׁנִּים

The woman responds: My beloved descended to his garden, to the beds of fragrant plants. She does not provide an exact location, but she knows that he is supposed to be in a place of beauty and fragrance, to herd his flock in the gardens, and to gather lilies for himself.

אֲנִי לְדוֹדִי וְדוֹדִי לִי הָרוֹעֶה בַּשּׁוֹשַׁנִּים

She concludes: I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine. It is he who herds among the lilies. Though he is not currently with me, this does not mean he is avoiding me. I am certain that our love is real. For now, however, my beloved has descended to his garden. Perhaps he will return to me with flowers.

יָפָה אַתְּ רַעְיָתִי כְּתִרְצָה נָאוָה כִּירוּשָׁלִָם אֲיֻמָּה כַּנִּדְגָּלוֹת

The beloved himself speaks, though the object of his love is likely not present. You are fair, my love, like Tirtza, a small city in the portion of Manasseh, which at one point served as the capital of the Kingdom of Israel. It is possible that its beauty played a role in its being chosen as the capital. You are lovely like Jerusalem and you are formidable like banners [nidgalot]. You stand out as a banner on display as it flutters high above. Alternatively, nidgalot refers to arrays of decorated soldiers.

הָסֵבִּי עֵינַיִךְ מִנֶּגְדִּי שֶׁהֵם הִרְהִיבֻנִי שַׂעְרֵךְ כְּעֵדֶר הָעִזִּים שֶׁגָּלְשׁוּ מִן־הַגִּלְעָד

Avert your eyes from me, as they excite my arrogance, or passion, when they gaze upon me. Your black, curly hair, flowing down your back, is like a flock of goats that has streamed down from the Gilad.

שִׁנַּיִךְ כְּעֵדֶר הָרְחֵלִים שֶׁעָלוּ מִן־הָרַחְצָה שֶׁכֻּלָּם מַתְאִימוֹת וְשַׁכֻּלָה אֵין בָּהֶם

Your teeth are like a flock of ewes that have come up from being washed, that are all paired, and there is none missing among them. Your teeth are perfect and beautiful.

כְּפֶלַח הָרִמּוֹן רַקָּתֵךְ מִבַּעַד לְצַמָּתֵךְ

Your temple is like a pomegranate slice, round and beautiful, behind your braid, or lock of hair, falling over your face and sides.

שִׁשִּׁים הֵמָּה מְלָכוֹת וּשְׁמֹנִים פִּילַגְשִׁים ועֲלָמוֹת אֵין מִסְפָּר

They are sixty queens, wives of King Solomon, and eighty concubines, and around him there are also young women without number. Perhaps this is a poem composed about or by King Solomon, presumably in his youth.

אַחַת הִיא יוֹנָתִי תַמָּתִי אַחַת הִיא לְאִמָּהּ בָּרָה הִיא לְיוֹלַדְתָּהּ רָאוּהָ בָנוֹת וַיְאַשְּׁרוּהָ מְלָכוֹת וּפִילַגְשִׁים וַיְהַלְלוּהָ

Despite Solomon’s many women, unique is my faultless dove; she stands above them all. Unique to her mother, there is no woman like her; she is pure to the one who bore her. Girls see her and laud her, queens and concubines see her and praise her.

מִי־זֹאת הַנִּשְׁקָפָה כְּמוֹ שָׁחַר יָפָה כַלְּבָנָה בָּרָה כַּחַמָּה אֲיֻמָּה כַּנִּדְגָּלוֹת

The beloved continues to praise his bride: Who is she who appears in the distance, glowing like the dawn, fair like the moon, pure and shining like the sun? The initial light of dawn is very gentle; the light of the moon is not strong, but it is pleasant and clear; the sun that eventually shines forth is the brightest of all. She is formidable like banners.

אֶל־גִּנַּת אֱגוֹז יָרַדְתִּי לִרְאוֹת בְּאִבֵּי הַנָּחַל לִרְאוֹת הֲפָרְחָה הַגֶּפֶן הֵנֵצוּ הָרִמֹּנִים

Here the narrator could be either the beloved or his love, but it is probably the latter: I have gone down to the nut garden to look at the budding [ibbei] of the vale, the fresh fruits or plants of the valley. Perhaps the word aviv, spring, is derived from ibbei, as spring is the season of regrowth and vitality. I have gone to see whether the vine has blossomed and the pomegranates are in bloom. This takes place in spring, when people generally venture down to gardens and streams to see the blossoming plants. Many commentaries explain this image of initial growth as representing the exodus from Egypt.

לֹא יָדַעְתִּי נַפְשִׁי שָׂמַתְנִי מַרְכְּבוֹת עַמִּי נָדִיב

I am utterly amazed by the experience, as if I do not know my own soul in this surreal state that resembles a dream. It has set me, I feel as though I have been set on chariots of my noble [nadiv] people, as if he has taken me upon his chariot among his soldiers. Some suggest that the phrase ami nadiv, my noble people, is an allusion to Aminadav father of Nahshon, the prince of Judah.