Song 4 | Fn | Min | Max | Syll | ||
הִנָּ֨ךְ יָפָ֤ה רַעְיָתִי֙ הִנָּ֣ךְ יָפָ֔ה עֵינַ֣יִךְ יוֹנִ֔ים מִבַּ֖עַד לְצַמָּתֵ֑ךְ שַׂעְרֵךְ֙ כְּעֵ֣דֶר הָֽעִזִּ֔ים שֶׁגָּלְשׁ֖וּ מֵהַ֥ר גִּלְעָֽד | 1 | Just look at you, beautiful, my friend. Just look at you, beautiful, your eyes doves from within your headscarf, your hair like a troop of she-goats curled up on the hillside of Gilead. | 3e | 4C | 23 15 | |
שִׁנַּ֙יִךְ֙ כְּעֵ֣דֶר הַקְּצוּב֔וֹת שֶׁעָל֖וּ מִן־הָרַחְצָ֑ה שֶׁכֻּלָּם֙ מַתְאִימ֔וֹת וְשַׁכֻּלָ֖ה אֵ֥ין בָּהֶֽם | 2 | Your teeth are like a troop of shorn sheep that have ascended from the wash, such that all of them are bearing twins, and there is not one among them bereaved. | 3e | 4B | 16 13 | |
כְּח֤וּט הַשָּׁנִי֙ שִׂפְתֹתַ֔יִךְ וּמִדְבָּרֵ֖יךְ נָאוֶ֑ה כְּפֶ֤לַח הָֽרִמּוֹן֙ רַקָּתֵ֔ךְ מִבַּ֖עַד לְצַמָּתֵֽךְ | 3 | C | Like the thread of scarlet are your lips and your words lovely, like a slice of the pomegranate your temple from within your headscarf. | 3e | 4C | 15 16 |
כְּמִגְדַּ֤ל דָּוִיד֙ צַוָּארֵ֔ךְ בָּנ֖וּי לְתַלְפִּיּ֑וֹת אֶ֤לֶף הַמָּגֵן֙ תָּל֣וּי עָלָ֔יו כֹּ֖ל שִׁלְטֵ֥י הַגִּבּוֹרִֽים | 4 | Like the tower of David your neck, built for an arsenal, the thousand shields hang on it, all the escutcheons of the valiant. | 3e | 4C | 14 16 | |
שְׁנֵ֥י שָׁדַ֛יִךְ כִּשְׁנֵ֥י עֳפָרִ֖ים תְּאוֹמֵ֣י צְבִיָּ֑ה הָרוֹעִ֖ים בַּשּׁוֹשַׁנִּֽים | 5 | Your two breasts and like two twin faun of the gazelle host, that pasture among the lilies. | 3d | 4B | 16 7 | |
עַ֤ד שֶׁיָּפ֙וּחַ֙ הַיּ֔וֹם וְנָ֖סוּ הַצְּלָלִ֑ים אֵ֤לֶךְ לִי֙ אֶל־הַ֣ר הַמּ֔וֹר וְאֶל־גִּבְעַ֖ת הַלְּבוֹנָֽה | 6 | C | Till the day respires and the shadows withdraw, I will myself come to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hillock of frankincense. | 3e | 4C | 13 14 |
כֻּלָּ֤ךְ יָפָה֙ רַעְיָתִ֔י וּמ֖וּם אֵ֥ין בָּֽךְ | 7 | You are all beautiful, my friend, and there is no spot in you. | 3e | 4C | 11 | |
אִתִּ֤י מִלְּבָנוֹן֙ כַּלָּ֔ה אִתִּ֖י מִלְּבָנ֣וֹן תָּב֑וֹאִי תָּשׁ֣וּרִי ׀ מֵרֹ֣אשׁ אֲמָנָ֗ה מֵרֹ֤אשׁ שְׂנִיר֙ וְחֶרְמ֔וֹן מִמְּעֹנ֣וֹת אֲרָי֔וֹת מֵֽהַרְרֵ֖י נְמֵרִֽים | 8 | With me from Lebanon, perfection, with me from Lebanon you will come. You will scrutinize from the head of Amana, from the head of Senir and Hermon, from lions' dens, from the mountains of leopards. | 3e | 4C | 15 27 | |
לִבַּבְתִּ֖נִי אֲחֹתִ֣י כַלָּ֑ה לִבַּבְתִּ֙ינִי֙ בְּאַחַ֣ת מֵעֵינַ֔יִךְ בְּאַחַ֥ד עֲנָ֖ק מִצַּוְּרֹנָֽיִךְ | 9 | You have ravished my heart, my sister, perfection. You have ravished my heart with one glance from your eyes, with one pendant from your neck. | 3e | 4B | 9 21 | |
מַה־יָּפ֥וּ דֹדַ֖יִךְ אֲחֹתִ֣י כַלָּ֑ה מַה־טֹּ֤בוּ דֹדַ֙יִךְ֙ מִיַּ֔יִן וְרֵ֥יחַ שְׁמָנַ֖יִךְ מִכָּל־בְּשָׂמִֽים | 10 | How beautiful is your caress, my sister, perfection. How much better is your caress than wine, and the fragrance of your oils than all spices. | 3e | 4C | 11 20 | |
נֹ֛פֶת תִּטֹּ֥פְנָה שִׂפְתוֹתַ֖יִךְ כַּלָּ֑ה דְּבַ֤שׁ וְחָלָב֙ תַּ֣חַת לְשׁוֹנֵ֔ךְ וְרֵ֥יחַ שַׂלְמֹתַ֖יִךְ כְּרֵ֥יחַ לְבָנֽוֹן | 11 | d | Your lips drop honeycomb, perfection. Honey and milk are under your tongue, and the fragrance of your apparel, like the fragrance of Lebanon. | 3d | 4C | 11 23 |
גַּ֥ן ׀ נָע֖וּל אֲחֹתִ֣י כַלָּ֑ה גַּ֥ל נָע֖וּל מַעְיָ֥ן חָתֽוּם | 12 | f | A garden bolted, my sister, perfection, a billow shod, a spring sealed. | 3e | 4B | 8 7 |
שְׁלָחַ֙יִךְ֙ פַּרְדֵּ֣ס רִמּוֹנִ֔ים עִ֖ם פְּרִ֣י מְגָדִ֑ים כְּפָרִ֖ים עִם־נְרָדִֽים | 13 | Your shoots are a paradise of pomegranates, with quality fruits, henna with spikenard. | 3e | 4B | 15 7 | |
נֵ֣רְדְּ ׀ וְכַרְכֹּ֗ם קָנֶה֙ וְקִנָּמ֔וֹן עִ֖ם כָּל־עֲצֵ֣י לְבוֹנָ֑ה מֹ֚ר וַאֲהָל֔וֹת עִ֖ם כָּל־רָאשֵׁ֥י בְשָׂמִֽים | 14 | B | Spikenard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense, myrrh and aloes, with all preeminent spices. | 3e | 4C | 18 12 |
מַעְיַ֣ן גַּנִּ֔ים בְּאֵ֖ר מַ֣יִם חַיִּ֑ים וְנֹזְלִ֖ים מִן־לְבָנֽוֹן | 15 | A spring of gardens, a well of waters living, and flowing from Lebanon. | 3e | 4B | 9 7 | |
ע֤וּרִי צָפוֹן֙ וּב֣וֹאִי תֵימָ֔ן הָפִ֥יחִי גַנִּ֖י יִזְּל֣וּ בְשָׂמָ֑יו יָבֹ֤א דוֹדִי֙ לְגַנּ֔וֹ וְיֹאכַ֖ל פְּרִ֥י מְגָדָֽיו | 16 | C | Be roused, north wind, and come, south wind. Blow upon my garden. Let its spices flow. Let my beloved come to his garden, and eat its quality fruits. | 3e | 4C | 19 15 |
For there is a language of flowers
for flowers are peculiarly, the poetry of Christ (Christopher Smart)
א ב ג ד ה ו ז ח ט י כ ל מ נ ס ע פ צ ק ר ש ת
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Wednesday 12 April 2017
Song 4
You will notice a change: for hedged in verse 12 I have substituted two other common uses of this stem, somewhat more striking. As if one says, what does one do to a garden or a billow, and the answer is not necessarily 'hedge'.
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