My beloved is radiant and lustrous, distinguished among ten thousand. His head is purest gold. His hair is like palm leaves, but black as a raven. His eyes are like does beside streams of water, bathed in milk, perched over a pool.
His cheeks are like a bed of spice, towers of perfumes. His lips are lotus flowers, dripping liquid myrrh.
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.