I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, by the gazelles, and by the does of the field, do not stir up or awake my Love until He please.

I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, by the gazelles, and by the does of the field, do not stir up nor awake my love until it pleases.

Awake, O north wind; and come, south wind; blow on my garden, so that the spices of it may flow out. Let my Beloved come into His garden and eat His pleasant fruits.

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.