Awake, north wind; and come, you south. Blow on my garden, that its spices may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and taste his precious fruits.

I was asleep, but my heart was awake. It is the voice of my beloved who knocks: "Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my head is filled with dew, and my hair with the dampness of the night."