Come, my beloved, let us go forth into the field; Let us lodge in the villages.

By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.

They all handle the sword, and are expert in war: Every man hath his sword upon his thigh, Because of fear in the night.

I was asleep, but my heart waked: It is the voice of my beloved that knocketh,'saying , Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled; For my head is filled with dew, My locks with the drops of the night.