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

Look not upon me, because I am black; Because the sun hath looked upon me. My mother's children were angry with me: They made me keeper of the vineyards; Mine own vineyard have I not kept.

Tell me, thou whom my soul loveth, Where thou feedest thy flock, Where thou makest it to rest at noon; For why should I be as one veiled Beside the flocks of thy companions?

I am a narcissus of Sharon, A lily of the valleys.

Sustain ye me with raisin-cakes, Refresh me with apples; For I am sick of love.

My beloved is mine, and I am his; He feedeth his flock among the lilies,

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.

The watchmen that go about the city found me: Have ye seen him whom my soul loveth?

Scarcely had I passed from them, When I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go, Until I had brought him into my mother's house, And into the chamber of her that conceived me.

I am come into my garden, my sister, my spouse; I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, O friends; drink, yea, drink abundantly, beloved ones!

I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, If ye find my beloved, ... What will ye tell him? That I am sick of love.

I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine: He feedeth his flock among the lilies.

I am my beloved's, And his desire is toward me.

I am a wall, and my breasts like towers; Then was I in his eyes as one that findeth peace.