Fair and stately are the lilies in the valley of fountains,
So is my beloved in the garden of cedars;
The rising moon is the brightest ornament on the brow of the mountain,
So is my chosen one, stirring in the midst of his companions.
When the nightingale woos the rose in the gardens of Damascus,
The lily droops, and is pale with envy.
So do I, bow the head, and am pale, when my beloved give the
Honey of his discourse to the
Daughters of beauty.