Song of Songs 8

1 Oh, that you were my brother, nursed at my mother's breasts! If I met you out of doors, I would kiss you and none would taunt me.
2 I would lead you, bring you into the home of my mother. There you would teach me to give you spiced wine to drink and pomegranate juice.
3 His left hand is under my head and his right arm embraces me.
4 I adjure you, daughters of Jerusalem, by the gazelles and hinds of the field, Do not arouse, do not stir up love, before its own time.