My love is a sachet of myrrh to me,
spending the night between my breasts.

In my bed at night
I sought the one I love;
I sought him, but did not find him.

All of them are skilled with swords
and trained in warfare.
Each has his sword at his side
to guard against the terror of the night.

W I sleep, but my heart is awake.
A sound! My love is knocking!

M Open to me, my sister, my darling,
my dove, my perfect one.
For my head is drenched with dew,
my hair with droplets of the night.

Come, my love,
let’s go to the field;
let’s spend the night among the henna blossoms.