Do not stare at me because I am dark, For the sun has tanned me. My mother’s sons were angry with me; They made me caretaker of the vineyards, But
I have not taken care of my own vineyard.
Tell me, you whom my soul loves, Where do you pasture your flock,
Where do you have it
lie down at noon? For why should I be like one who veils herself Beside the flocks of your companions?'
'If you yourself do not know, Most beautiful among women, Go out on the trail of the flock, And pasture your young goats By the tents of the shepherds.
'To me, my darling, you are like My mare among the chariots of Pharaoh.
Your cheeks are delightful with jewelry, Your neck with strings of beads.'