8 One is my dove, my perfect one is but one, she is the only one of her mother, the chosen of her that bore her. The daughters saw her, and declared her most blessed: the queens and concubines, and they praised her.
9 Who is she that cometh forth as the morning rising, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, terrible as an army set in array?
10 I went down into the garden of nuts, to see the fruits of the valleys, and to look if the vineyard had flourished, and the pomegranates budded.
11 I knew not: my soul troubled me for the chariots of Aminadab.
12 Return, return, O Sulamitess: return, return that we may behold thee.