His left hand is under my head, And his right doth embrace me.

I am sleeping, but my heart waketh: The sound of my beloved knocking! 'Open to me, my sister, my friend, My dove, my perfect one, For my head is filled with dew, My locks with drops of the night.'

His head is pure gold -- fine gold, His locks flowing, dark as a raven,

Unto a garden of nuts I went down, To look on the buds of the valley, To see whither the vine had flourished, The pomegranates had blossomed --

Thy head upon thee as Carmel, And the locks of thy head as purple, The king is bound with the flowings!

His left hand is under my head, And his right doth embrace me.