Song of Songs 8:1-8

1Oh, how I wish you were my little brother, nursing at my mother’s breasts; if I saw you outside, I could kiss you – surely no one would despise me!

2I would lead you and bring you to my mother’s house, the one who taught me. I would give you spiced wine to drink, the nectar of my pomegranates.

3His left hand caresses my head, and his right hand stimulates me.

4I admonish you, O maidens of Jerusalem: “Do not arouse or awaken love until it pleases!”

5Who is this coming up from the desert, leaning on her beloved? Under the apple tree I aroused you; there your mother conceived you, there she who bore you was in labor of childbirth.

6Set me like a cylinder seal over your heart, like a signet on your arm. For love is as strong as death, passion is as unrelenting as Sheol. Its flames burst forth, it is a blazing flame.

7Surging waters cannot quench love; floodwaters cannot overflow it. If someone were to offer all his possessions to buy love, the offer would be utterly despised.

8We have a little sister, and as yet she has no breasts. What shall we do for our sister on the day when she is spoken for?