“On my bed night after night I sought him
Whom my soul loves;
I sought him but did not find him.

I slept, but my heart was awake. The voice of my beloved! he knocketh: Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, mine undefiled; For my head is filled with dew, My locks with the drops of the night.

They all handle the sword, and are expert in war: Every man hath his sword upon his thigh, Because of fear in the night.

A bundle of myrrh is my beloved unto me; he shall lie all night between my breasts.

Come, my love,
let’s go to the field;
let’s spend the night among the henna blossoms.