W How handsome you are, my love.
How delightful!
Our bed is lush with foliage;

In my bed at night
I sought the one I love;
I sought him, but did not find him.

I will arise now and go about the city,
through the streets and the plazas.
I will seek the one I love.
I sought him, but did not find him.

W I sleep, but my heart is awake.
A sound! My love is knocking!

M 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.

W I have taken off my clothing.
How can I put it back on?
I have washed my feet.
How can I get them dirty?

I opened to my love,
but my love had turned and gone away.
I was crushed that he had left.
I sought him, but did not find him.
I called him, but he did not answer.

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.

But my dove, my virtuous one, is unique;
she is the favorite of her mother,
perfect to the one who gave her birth.
Women see her and declare her fortunate;
queens and concubines also, and they sing her praises:

Before I knew it,
my desire put me
among the chariots of my noble people.

I have my own vineyard.
The 1,000 are for you, Solomon,
but 200 for those who guard its fruits.