My bride, my sister, I will come to my garden. I will gather my myrrh with my spice. I will eat my honeycomb with my honey. I will drink my wine with my milk. Eat, my friends! Drink and become intoxicated with expressions of love!
I sleep, but my mind is awake. Listen! My beloved is knocking. Open to me, my true love, my sister, my dove, my perfect one. My head is wet with dew, my hair with the dewdrops of night.
I have taken off my clothes! Why should I put them on [again]? I have washed my feet! Why should I get them dirty [again]?
My beloved put his hand through the keyhole. My heart throbbed for him.
I got up to open for my beloved. My hands dripped with myrrh, and my fingers were drenched with liquid myrrh, on the handles of the lock.
I opened for my beloved, but my beloved had turned away. He was gone! I almost died when he left. I looked for him, but I did not find him. I called for him, but he did not answer me.
The watchmen making their rounds in the city found me. They struck me! They wounded me! Those watchmen on the walls took my robe from me!
Young women of Jerusalem, swear to me that if you find my beloved you will tell him I am hopelessly lovesick.
Most beautiful of women, what makes your beloved better than any other beloved? What makes your beloved better than any other beloved that you make us swear this way?
My beloved is dazzling yet ruddy. He stands out among 10,000 men.
His head is the finest gold. His hair is wavy, black as a raven.
His eyes are set like doves bathing in milk.
His cheeks are like a garden of spices, a garden that produces scented herbs. His lips are lilies that drip with myrrh.
His hands are disks of gold set with emerald. His chest is a block of ivory covered with sapphires.
His legs are columns of marble set on bases of pure gold. His form is like Lebanon, choice as the cedars.
His mouth is sweet in every way. Everything about him is desirable! This is my beloved, and this is my friend, young women of Jerusalem.