Draw me, we will run after thee! The king hath brought me into his chambers We will be glad and rejoice in thee, We will remember thy love more than wine. They love thee uprightly.

A bundle of myrrh is my beloved unto me; He shall pass the night between my breasts.

Who is this, she that cometh up from the wilderness Like pillars of smoke, Perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, With all powders of the merchant? ...

Until the day dawn, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, And to the hill of frankincense.

Spikenard and saffron; Calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense; Myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices:

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 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.

What is thy beloved more than another beloved, Thou fairest among women? What is thy beloved more than another beloved, That thou dost so charge us?

His cheeks are as a bed of spices, raised beds of sweet plants; His lips lilies, dropping liquid myrrh.