Do you feel as young as you do— By the gazelle or doe,
passion dripping off lip's honey dew,
Behold all winters past— Flowers singing voices
of turtledoves, ripen the joys of my heart;

Arise to me, but come away— Sweet voice and a
lovely face, as I taste your name.
A banner over me, is your love, stirred up by desire,
I'd do any all for my— Oh beloved.