Fear me not, because I am very dark, Because the sun hath scorched me, The sons of my mother were angry with me, They made me keeper of the vineyards, My vineyard -- my own -- I have not kept.

If thou knowest not, O fair among women, Get thee forth by the traces of the flock, And feed thy kids by the shepherds' dwellings!

I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes or by the hinds of the field, Stir not up nor wake the love till she please!

On my couch by night, I sought him whom my soul hath loved; I sought him, and I found him not!

-- Pray, let me rise, and go round the city, In the streets and in the broad places, I seek him whom my soul hath loved! -- I sought him, and I found him not.

But a little I passed on from them, Till I found him whom my soul hath loved! I seized him, and let him not go, Till I brought him in unto the house of my mother -- And the chamber of her that conceived me.

I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes or by the hinds of the field, Stir not up nor wake the love till she please!

All of them holding sword, taught of battle, Each his sword by his thigh, for fear at night.

Thy teeth as a row of the shorn ones That have come up from the washing, For all of them are forming twins, And a bereaved one is not among them.

Thou art all fair, my friend, And a blemish there is not in thee. Come from Lebanon, O spouse,

I am sleeping, but my heart waketh: The sound of my beloved knocking! 'Open to me, my sister, my friend, My dove, my perfect one, For my head is filled with dew, My locks with drops of the night.'

My beloved sent his hand from the net-work, And my bowels were moved for him.

I opened to my beloved, But my beloved withdrew -- he passed on, My soul went forth when he spake, I sought him, and found him not. I called him, and he answered me not.

Thy teeth as a row of the lambs, That have come up from the washing, Because all of them are forming twins, And a bereaved one is not among them.

I knew not my soul, It made me -- chariots of my people Nadib.

Thy waist is a basin of roundness, It lacketh not the mixture, Thy body a heap of wheat, fenced with lilies,

Who doth make thee as a brother to me, Sucking the breasts of my mother? I find thee without, I kiss thee, Yea, they do not despise me,

Many waters are not able to quench the love, And floods do not wash it away. If one give all the wealth of his house for love, Treading down -- they tread upon it.

We have a little sister, and breasts she hath not, What do we do for our sister, In the day that it is told of her?