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 rose up to open to my beloved; And my hands dropped with myrrh, And my fingers with liquid myrrh, Upon the handles of the lock.

His head is as the finest gold; His locks are flowing, black as the raven;

Thy head upon thee is like Carmel, And the locks of thy head like purple; The king is fettered by thy ringlets!