Not so does ivory, skillfully polished, shine,
As the snowy breast of the Husband gleams,
A breast painted with frequent chrysolite.
You would say his two legs rise like gold,
They rise like marble columns.
You will think his high vertex takes up
The cedar, which inhabits the greenery of Lebanon,
When you see my King walking:
Whom, if you hear him speaking sweetly,
You would swear that sweet Nectar flows from his mouth.
This is the form and beauty of my Spouse,
Whom I love in my inmost marrow.

The Flower of Wisdom is the fruit of honor, Ecclesiastes 24.

I am the Flower of Lebanon, a flower full of sacred honor,
Than which nothing shines more beautifully in the whole world.
Clearly, inscribed with the names of the celestial King,
I lift my noble head into the upper airs.
Just as it shines, painted with an august cap of leaves,
The rose which is sown in the rich field of Sharon:
So I, so I spread the glowing crown of my calyx,
And my hair flashes with scarlet fire.