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

By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loves: I sought him, but I found him not.

They all hold swords, being expert in war: every man has his sword upon his thigh because of fear in the night.

I sleep, but my heart wakes: it is the voice of my beloved that knocks, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my perfect one: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.