Tota pulchra es, amica mea,
et macula non est in te:
favus distillans labia tua;
mel et lac sub lingua tua;
odor unguentorum tuorum super omnia aromata;
iam enim hiems transiit, imber abiit et recessit,
flores apparuerunt, vineae florentes odorem dederunt,
et vox turturis audita est in terra nostra.
Surge propera, amica mea,
veni de Libano: veni, coronaberis.

Song of Songs; antiphon for Feast of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary

You are wholly beautiful, my love,
and there is no blemish in you:
your lips drop honey like a honeycomb,
honey and milk are on your tongue;
[and] the scent of your ointments is above all other perfumes.
For now the winter is past, the rains are over, and have gone.
The flowers have appeared, the budding vines give a good smell,
and the voice of the turtle dove can be heard in our land.
Rise up, my love, make haste,
come from Lebanon: come, you shall be crowned.