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!
Song of Solomon 6
Whither hath thy beloved gone, O fair among women? Whither hath thy beloved turned, And we seek him with thee?
My beloved went down to his garden, To the beds of the spice, To delight himself in the gardens, and to gather lilies.
I [am] my beloved's, and my beloved [is] mine, Who is delighting himself among the lilies.
Fair [art] thou, my friend, as Tirzah, Comely as Jerusalem, Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts.
Turn round thine eyes from before me, Because they have made me proud. Thy hair [is] as a row of the goats, That have shone from Gilead,
Thy teeth as a row of the lambs, That have come up from the washing, Because all of them are forming twins, And a bereaved one is not among them.
As the work of the pomegranate [is] thy temple behind thy veil.
Sixty are queens, and eighty concubines, And virgins without number.
One is my dove, my perfect one, One she [is] of her mother, The choice one she [is] of her that bare her, Daughters saw, and pronounce her happy, Queens and concubines, and they praise her.
`Who [is] this that is looking forth as morning, Fair as the moon -- clear as the sun, Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts?'
Unto a garden of nuts I went down, To look on the buds of the valley, To see whither the vine had flourished, The pomegranates had blossomed --
I knew not my soul, It made me -- chariots of my people Nadib.
Return, return, O Shulammith! Return, return, and we look upon thee. What do ye see in Shulammith?
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