1. Your branches stirred with estrangement in their twittering,
So you thought an idol's temple was one of her servants.

2. She pulled the strings and woke the sleepers with her melody,
And lent the waking the fragrance of her slumber.

3. A cheek she struck with her tongue and her teeth
Until her rhythms and her songs grew indistinguishable,

4. As though the tune of her lute was in her voice
And the softness of her voice was in her lute.

5. She sensed the distances of melody and matched them
With justice between that which was near and far from her.

6. The skills of composition were perfected in her, as though
She had inherited the fundamentals of knowledge from David.

7. She captivates minds, in the morn and eve,
And leaves them confused between her subtlety and her repetition.

8. With an acquired enunciation or innate eloquence
That tastes sweet to the eye of her envier.

9. And I do envy her lute if she embraces
Its neck or holds it between her breasts.

10. And I am jealous of the kissing of cups by her lips
And melt at the touching of jewelry by her cheek.