I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride. I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk. Friends Eat, friends! Drink, yes, drink abundantly, beloved.
I was asleep, but my heart was awake. It is the voice of my beloved who knocks: “Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my head is filled with dew, and my hair with the dampness of the night.”
I have taken off my robe. Indeed, must I put it on? I have washed my feet. Indeed, must I soil them?
My beloved thrust his hand in through the latch opening. My heart pounded for him.
I rose up to open for my beloved. My hands dripped with myrrh, my fingers with liquid myrrh, on the handles of the lock.
I opened to my beloved; but my beloved left, and had gone away. My heart went out when he spoke. I looked for him, but I didn’t find him. I called him, but he didn’t answer.
The watchmen who go about the city found me. They beat me. They bruised me. The keepers of the walls took my cloak away from me.
I adjure you, daughters of Jerusalem, If you find my beloved, that you tell him that I am faint with love.
How is your beloved better than another beloved, you fairest among women? How is your beloved better than another beloved, that you do so adjure us?
My beloved is white and ruddy. The best among ten thousand.
His head is like the purest gold. His hair is bushy, black as a raven.
His eyes are like doves beside the water brooks, washed with milk, mounted like jewels.
His cheeks are like a bed of spices with towers of perfumes. His lips are like lilies, dropping liquid myrrh.
His hands are like rings of gold set with beryl. His body is like ivory work overlaid with sapphires.
His legs are like pillars of marble set on sockets of fine gold. His appearance is like Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.
His mouth is sweetness; yes, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, daughters of Jerusalem.