Tell me, you whom my soul loves, where you graze your flock, where you rest them at noon; For why should I be as one who is veiled beside the flocks of your companions? Lover

By night on my bed, I sought him whom my soul loves. I sought him, but I didn't 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 didn't find him.

The watchmen who go about the city found me; "Have you seen him whom my soul loves?"

I had scarcely passed from them, when I found him whom my soul loves. I held him, and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my mother's house, into the room of her who conceived me.

Who is this who comes up from the wilderness like pillars of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, with all spices of the merchant?

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."

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.

My dove, my perfect one, is unique. She is her mother's only daughter. She is the favorite one of her who bore her. The daughters saw her, and called her blessed; the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.

Who is she who looks forth as the morning, beautiful as the moon, clear as the sun, and awesome as an army with banners?

Your mouth like the best wine, that goes down smoothly for my beloved, gliding through the lips of those who are asleep.

Oh that you were like my brother, who nursed from the breasts of my mother! If I found you outside, I would kiss you; yes, and no one would despise me.

I would lead you, bringing you into my mother's house, who would instruct me. I would have you drink spiced wine, of the juice of my pomegranate.

Who is this who comes up from the wilderness, leaning on her beloved? Under the apple tree I aroused you. There your mother conceived you. There she was in labor and bore you.

I am a wall, and my breasts like towers, then I was in his eyes like one who found peace.

My own vineyard is before me. The thousand are for you, Solomon; two hundred for those who tend its fruit. Lover

You who dwell in the gardens, with friends in attendance, let me hear your voice! Beloved