The Bride and Her Beloved

I have come to 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. Eat, O friends, and drink;

drink freely, O beloved.

I sleep, but my heart is awake.

A sound! My beloved is knocking:

“Open to me, my sister, my darling,

my dove, my flawless one.

My head is drenched with dew,

my hair with the dampness of the night.”

I have taken off my robe—

must I put it back on?

I have washed my feet—

must I soil them again?

My beloved put his hand to the latch;

my heart pounded for him.

I rose up to open for my beloved.

My hands dripped with myrrh,

my fingers with flowing myrrh

on the handles of the bolt.

I opened for my beloved,

but he had turned and gone.

My heart sank at his departure.

I sought him, but did not find him.

I called, but he did not answer.

I encountered the watchmen on their rounds of the city.

They beat me and bruised me;

they took away my cloak,

those guardians of the walls.

O daughters of Jerusalem, I adjure you,

if you find my beloved,

tell him I am sick with love.

How is your beloved better than others,

O most beautiful among women?

How is your beloved better than another,

that you charge us so?

My beloved is dazzling and ruddy,

outstanding among ten thousand.

His head is purest gold;

his hair is wavy and black as a raven.

His eyes are like doves

beside the streams of water,

bathed in milk

and mounted like jewels.

His cheeks are like beds of spice,

towers of perfume.

His lips are like lilies,

dripping with flowing myrrh.

His arms are rods of gold

set with beryl.

His body is an ivory panel

bedecked with sapphires.

His legs are pillars of marble

set on bases of pure gold.

His appearance is like Lebanon,

as majestic as the cedars.

His mouth is most sweet;

he is altogether lovely.

This is my beloved, and this is my friend,

O daughters of Jerusalem.