I have come to my garden, my sister, 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, friends; drink, and be drunk with love, beloveds.

I am asleep, but my heart is awake. It is the voice of my beloved; he is knocking. Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my perfect one; for my head is filled with dew, my locks with the drops of the night.

I have taken off my tunic; how can I put it on? I have washed my feet; how can I soil them?

My beloved put his hand in through the opening, and my insides stirred for him.

I rose to open for my beloved, and my hands dripped with myrrh, my fingers with liquid myrrh, on the handles of the bolt.

I opened for my beloved, but my beloved had turned and gone. My soul went out when he spoke. I sought him, but did not find him; I called him, but he did not answer me.

The watchmen who patrol the city found me; they struck me, they wounded me; the keepers of the walls tore off my veil from me.

I adjure you, daughters of Yerushalayim, if you find my beloved, what will you tell him? That I am lovesick.

What is your beloved more than another beloved, O fairest among women? What is your beloved more than another beloved, that you adjure us so?

My beloved is radiant and ruddy, distinguished among ten thousand.

His head is pure gold; his locks are wavy, black as a raven.

His eyes are like doves by streams of water, washed with milk, sitting beside pools.

His cheeks are like a garden of spices, mounds of fragrant herbs; his lips are lilies, dripping liquid myrrh.

His hands are rods of gold, set with topaz; his body is carved ivory, inlaid with sapphires.

His legs are pillars of marble, set on bases of pure gold; his appearance is like the Lebanon, choice as the cedars.

His mouth is most sweet, and he is altogether desirable. This is my beloved and this is my friend, O daughters of Yerushalayim.