Fear me not, because I am very dark, Because the sun hath scorched me, The sons of my mother were angry with me, They made me keeper of the vineyards, My vineyard -- my own -- I have not kept.

Turn round thine eyes from before me, Because they have made me proud. Thy hair is as a row of the goats, That have shone from Gilead,

Thy teeth as a row of the lambs, That have come up from the washing, Because all of them are forming twins, And a bereaved one is not among them.