I sleep, but my heart wakes: it is the voice of my beloved that knocks, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my perfect one: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.

I rose up to open to my beloved; and my hands dripped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.

His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are wavy, and black as a raven.