1.9 KiB
Chapter 5
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I have come to my garden--my sister, my bride. I gather my myrrh with my spices. I eat my honeycomb with my honey. I drink my wine with my milk. Eat, friends! Drink, be intoxicated with caresses!
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I was sleeping, but my heart was awake. A sound! My love was knocking! Open to me, my sister, my darling, my dove, my perfect one. For my head is drenched with dew, my hair with droplets of the night.
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I have taken off my clothing. How can I put it back on? I have washed my feet. How can I get them dirty?
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My love thrust his hand through the opening, and my feelings were stirred for him.
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I rose to open for my love. My hands dripped with myrrh, my fingers with flowing myrrh on the handles of the bolt.
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I opened to my love, but my love had turned and gone away. My heart sank because he had left. I sought him, but did not find him. I called him, but he did not answer.
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The guards who go about the city found me. They beat and wounded me; they took my cloak from me-- the guardians of the walls.
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Young women of Jerusalem, I charge you, if you find my love, tell him that I am lovesick.
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What makes the one you love better than another, most beautiful of women? What makes him better than another, that you would give us this charge?
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My love is fit and strong, notable among ten thousand.
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His head is purest gold. His hair is wavy and black as a raven.
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His eyes are like doves beside flowing streams, washed in milk and set like jewels.
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His cheeks are like beds of spice, mounds of perfume. His lips are lilies, dripping with flowing myrrh.
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His arms are rods of gold set with beryl. His body is an ivory panel covered with lapis lazuli.
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His legs are alabaster pillars set on pedestals of pure gold. His presence is like Lebanon, as majestic as the cedars.
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His mouth is sweetness. He is absolutely desirable. This is my love, and this is my friend, young women of Jerusalem.