You are a garden locked up, my sister, my bride; you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain. Your plants are an orchard of pomegranates with choice fruits, with henna and nard, nard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, with every kind of incense tree, with myrrh and aloes and all the finest spices . You are a garden fountain, a well of flowing water streaming down from Lebanon.

— SONG OF SONGS 4 : 1 2 – 1 5