I have come in to my garden, my sister-spouse, I have plucked my myrrh with my spice, I have eaten my comb with my honey, I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, O friends, drink, Yea, drink abundantly, O beloved ones!
I am sleeping, but my heart waketh: The sound of my beloved knocking! 'Open to me, my sister, my friend, My dove, my perfect one, For my head is filled with dew, My locks with drops of the night.'
I have put off my coat, how do I put it on? I have washed my feet, how do I defile them?
My beloved sent his hand from the net-work, And my bowels were moved for him.
I rose to open to my beloved, And my hands dropped myrrh, Yea, my fingers flowing myrrh, On the handles of the lock.
I opened to my beloved, But my beloved withdrew — he passed on, My soul went forth when he spake, I sought him, and found him not. I called him, and he answered me not.
The watchmen who go round about the city, Found me, smote me, wounded me, Keepers of the walls lifted up my veil from off me.
I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, If ye find my beloved — What do ye tell him? that I am sick with love!
What is thy beloved above any beloved, O fair among women? What is thy beloved above any beloved, That thus thou hast adjured us?
My beloved is clear and ruddy, Conspicuous above a myriad!
His head is pure gold — fine gold, His locks flowing, dark as a raven,
His eyes as doves by streams of water, Washing in milk, sitting in fulness.
His cheeks as a bed of the spice, towers of perfumes, His lips are lilies, dropping flowing myrrh,
His hands rings of gold, set with beryl, His heart bright ivory, covered with sapphires,
His limbs pillars of marble, Founded on sockets of fine gold, His appearance as Lebanon, choice as the cedars.
His mouth is sweetness — and all of him desirable, This is my beloved, and this my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem!