I am black, but comely, O daughters of Jerusalem, like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon.

Do not look on me, that I am black, that the sun has looked on me. My mother's sons were angry with me; they made me the keeper of the vineyards; but my vineyard I have not kept.

By night on my bed I sought Him whom my soul loved; I sought Him, but I did not find Him.

I will rise now and go about the city, in the streets and in the broad ways; I will seek Him whom my soul loves. I sought Him, but I did not find Him.

But a little while after I passed from them, I found Him whom my soul loves. I held Him and would not let Him go, until I had brought Him into my mother's house, and into the room of her who conceived me.

I sleep, but my heart is awake. It is the sound of my Beloved that knocks, saying, Open to Me, My sister, My love, My dove, My undefiled; for My head is filled with dew, My locks with the drops of the night.

I opened to my Beloved, but my Beloved had left. He passed on. My soul went out when He spoke; I sought Him, but I could not find Him. I called Him, but He did not answer me.

But My dove, My undefiled is one alone. She is the only one of her mother. She is the choice of her who bore her. The daughters saw her and blessed her; the queens and the concubines saw her, and they praised her.

I did not know, but my soul set me on the chariots of my princely people.