I am dark, but lovely, you daughters of Jerusalem, like Kedar's tents, like Solomon's curtains.

By night on my bed, I sought him whom my soul loves. I sought him, but I did not find him.

I will get up now, and go about the city; in the streets and in the squares I will seek him whom my soul loves. I sought him, but I did not find him.

I was asleep, but my heart was awake. It is the voice of my beloved who knocks: "Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my head is filled with dew, and my hair with the dampness of the night."

I have taken off my robe. Indeed, must I put it on? I have washed my feet. Indeed, must I soil them?

I opened to my beloved; but my beloved left; and had gone away. My heart went out when he spoke. I looked for him, but I did not find him. I called him, but he did not answer.

The watchmen who go about the city found me. They beat me. They bruised me. The keepers of the walls took my cloak away from me.

His cheeks are like a bed of spices with towers of perfumes. His lips are like lilies, dropping liquid myrrh.