I have taken off my dress, How can I put it on again?
I have washed my feet, How can I dirty them again?
My beloved extended his hand through the opening, And my feelings were stirred for him.
I arose to open to my beloved; And my hands dripped with myrrh, And my fingers with drops of myrrh, On the handles of the bolt.
I opened to my beloved, But my beloved had turned away and
had gone! My heart went out to him
as he spoke. I searched for him but I did not find him; I called him but he did not answer me.
The watchmen who make the rounds in the city found me, They struck me and
wounded me; The guards of the walls took my shawl away from me.
Swear to me, you daughters of Jerusalem, If you find my beloved, As to what you will tell him: For I am lovesick.'
'What kind of beloved is your beloved, O most beautiful among women? What kind of beloved is your beloved, That you make us swear in this way?'
'My beloved is dazzling and reddish, Outstanding among ten thousand.
His head is like
gold, pure gold; His locks are like
clusters of dates And
black as a raven.
His eyes are like doves Beside streams of water, Bathed in milk, And
perched in their
His cheeks are like a bed of balsam, Banks of herbal spices; His lips are lilies Dripping with drops of myrrh.