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

Thy cheeks are comely with bead-rows, Thy neck with ornamental chains.

We will make thee bead-rows of gold With studs of silver.

Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant; Also our bed is green.

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.

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 have put off my tunic, how should I put it on? I have washed my feet, how should I pollute them? --

My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door; And my bowels yearned for him.

I opened to my beloved; But my beloved had withdrawn himself; he was gone: My soul went forth when he spoke. I sought him, but I found him not; I called him, but he gave me no answer.

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

My dove, mine undefiled, is but one; She is the only one of her mother, She is the choice one of her that bore her. The daughters saw her, and they called her blessed; The queens and the concubines, and they praised her.