For your love is better than wine.
Your name is like ointment poured forth;
Therefore the virgins love you.
We’ll be glad and joy in you;
We’ll extol your love much more than wine.
Draw me; we will run after you.
Where do you feed your flock?
Where do they lie down at noon?
Where do you pasture your flock?
Go by the flock’s footsteps,
Feed your young, O fairest one,
By the shepherds’ tents.