I am black, but comely, daughters of Jerusalem, As the tents of Kedar, As the curtains of Solomon.

On my bed, in the nights, I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.

I will rise now, and go about the city; In the streets and in the broadways Will I seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.

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.

I opened to my beloved; But my beloved had withdrawn himself; he was gone: My soul went forth when he spoke. I sought him, but I found him not; I called him, but he gave me no answer.

My dove, mine undefiled, is but one; She is the only one of her mother, She is the choice one of her that bore her. The daughters saw her, and they called her blessed; The queens and the concubines, and they praised her.