Song of Songs

Solomon’s Song of Songs. [She] Would that he kiss me with that mouth. Better than any wine is your love; the fragrance of your oils, finer. Your very name flows forth like scented oil; what wonder then that young girls love you? Come, draw me after you, let us run - the king has brought me into his chambers. [Friends] In you our joy, our happiness: your love possesses us more than any wine; flowing freely falls this love. [She] I am dark yet fair, daughters of Jerusalem; black as the tents of Kedar, as Solomon’s curtains. Do not look at me, I am scorched black: the sun has stared at me. My mother’s sons were furious. They made me a keeper of the vineyards; my own vineyard, I did not keep. [She] Tell me, you that I have loved, where will you pasture, where will you rest your flock at noon? Do not make me swathe my face and wander, among all the herds of your friends. [Friends] If you do not know, most beautiful of women, then go out in the tracks of the flock; bring your own young goats to pasture where the shepherds’ huts stand. [He] My mare among Pharaoh’s chariots, that is what you are to me, my love, your cheeks fair in their strings of beads, your neck, jewelled; I would make you strings of solid gold - with silver grains. [She] As long as my king reclined to eat, my musk-root gave its scent; my beloved a bundle of myrrh to me resting between my breasts, my beloved a cluster of henna to me, in the spice-beds of Ein Gedi. [He] You are beautiful, my love, how beautiful, your eyes like doves. [She] How beautiful you are, beloved, and how good. Our bed is green, luscious. Our house is roofed with cedars; its rafters are juniper trees. [She] I am a dune flower of the coast, I am a lily of the valleys. [He] A lily among thorn weeds is my love among the girls. [She] Amid the forest, an apple tree is my beloved among men. I treasure his shade, there I rest - and his fruit fills my mouth with sweetness. [She] He has brought me to the wine house, and his flag flying over me is love. Sustain me now with raisin cakes, spread a bed for me among apples - for I am sick with love. My head rests in his left hand; his right arm is around me. Swear to me, daughters of Jerusalem, by the she-gazelles, by the does of the field; swear that you will not waken, will not rouse, this love before its time.