“He made its posts of silver,
Its back of gold
And its seat of purple fabric,
With its interior lovingly fitted out
By the daughters of Jerusalem.

My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door , And my heart was moved for him.

If, a wall, she is, we will build upon it a battlement of silver, - but if, a door, she is, we will close it up with a plank of cedar.

I am sleeping, but my heart is awake; it is the sound of my loved one at the door, saying, Be open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my very beautiful one; my head is wet with dew, and my hair with the drops of the night.

I got up to let my loved one in; and my hands were dropping with myrrh, and my fingers with liquid myrrh, on the lock of the door.

I made the door open to my loved one; but my loved one had taken himself away, and was gone, my soul was feeble when his back was turned on me; I went after him, but I did not come near him; I said his name, but he gave me no answer.

The mandrakes send out their fragrance; over our door is every delicacy, both new and old, which I have stored up for you, my lover.