I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse; I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, O friends; drink, yea, drink abundantly, beloved ones!
I slept, but my heart was awake. The voice of my beloved! he knocketh: Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, mine undefiled; For my head is filled with dew, My locks with the drops of the night.
—I have put off my tunic, how should I put it on? I have washed my feet, how should I pollute them?—
My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door; And my bowels yearned for him.
I rose up to open to my beloved; And my hands dropped with myrrh, And my fingers with liquid myrrh, Upon the handles of the lock.
I opened to my beloved; But my beloved had withdrawn himself; he was gone: My soul went forth when he spoke. I sought him, but I found him not; I called him, but he gave me no answer.
The watchmen that went about the city found me; They smote me, they wounded me; The keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.
I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, If ye find my beloved, … What will ye tell him?—That I am sick of love.
What is thy beloved more than another beloved, Thou fairest among women? What is thy beloved more than another beloved, That thou dost so charge us?
My beloved is white and ruddy, The chiefest among ten thousand.
His head is as the finest gold; His locks are flowing, black as the raven;
His eyes are like doves by the water-brooks, Washed with milk, fitly set;
His cheeks are as a bed of spices, raised beds of sweet plants; His lips lilies, dropping liquid myrrh.
His hands gold rings, set with the chrysolite; His belly is bright ivory, overlaid with sapphires;
His legs, pillars of marble, set upon bases of fine gold: His bearing as Lebanon, excellent as the cedars;
His mouth is most sweet: Yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, yea, this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.