My beloved thrust his hand in through the latch opening. My heart pounded for him.

We will go up early to the vineyards, We will see if the vine hath budded, If the blossom is opening, And the pomegranates are in bloom: There will I give thee my loves.

My beloved is like a Roe or a young hart. Behold, he standeth behind our wall, he looketh in at the window, and peepeth through the grate.

The love-apples, have given fragrance, and, at our openings, are all precious things, new and yet old, - O my beloved! I have treasured them up for thee.

SHEI, was sleeping, but, my heart, was awake, - The voice of my beloved - knocking! Open to me, my sister, my fair one, my dove, my perfect one, for, my head, is filled with dew, my locks, with the moisture of the night.

I myself, arose, to open to my beloved, - and, my hands, dripped with myrrh, and, my fingers, with myrrh distilling, upon the handles of the bolt.

I myself, opened to my beloved, but, my beloved, had turned away, had passed on, - My soul, had gone out when he spake, I sought him, but found him not, I called him, but he answered not.