The Shulamite

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth—
For yourlove is better than wine.
 Because of the fragrance of your good ointments,
Your name is ointment poured forth;
Therefore the virgins love you.
 Draw me away!

The king has brought me into his chambers.

Rightly do they love you.

 I am dark, but lovely,
O daughters of Jerusalem,
Like the tents of Kedar,
Like the curtains of Solomon.
 Do not look upon me, because I am dark,
Because the sun has tanned me.
My mother’s sons were angry with me;
They made me the keeper of the vineyards,
But my own vineyard I have not kept.

 While the king is at his table,
My spikenard sends forth its fragrance.
 A bundle of myrrh is my beloved to me,
That lies all night between my breasts.
 My beloved is to me a cluster of henna blooms
In the vineyards of En Gedi.

 Behold, you are handsome, my beloved!
Yes, pleasant!
Also our bed is green.
 The beams of our houses are cedar,
And our rafters of fir.

 I am the rose of Sharon,
And the lily of the valleys.

 Like an apple tree among the trees of the woods,
So is my beloved among the sons.
I sat down in his shade with great delight,
And his fruit was sweet to my taste.

 The voice of my beloved!
Behold, he comes
Leaping upon the mountains,
Skipping upon the hills.
 My beloved is like a gazelle or a young stag.
Behold, he stands behind our wall;
He is looking through the windows,
Gazing through the lattice.

 My beloved spoke, and said to me:
“Rise up, my love, my fair one,
And come away.
 For lo, the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone.
 The flowers appear on the earth;
The time of singing has come,
And the voice of the turtledove
Is heard in our land.
 The fig tree puts forth her green figs,
And the vines with the tender grapes
Give a good smell.
Rise up, my love, my fair one,
And come away!

 “O my dove, in the clefts of the rock,
In the secret places of the cliff,
Let me see your face,
Let me hear your voice;
For your voice is sweet,
And your face is lovely.”

 My beloved is mine, and I am his.

He feeds his flock among the lilies.

 By night on my bed I sought the one I love;
I sought him, but I did not find him.
 “I will rise now,” I said,
“And go about the city;
In the streets and in the squares
I will seek the one I love.”
I sought him, but I did not find him.
 The watchmen who go about the city found me;
I said,
“Have you seen the one I love?”

 Scarcely had I passed by them,
When I found the one I love.
I held him and would not let him go,
Until I had brought him to the house of my mother,
And into the chamber of her who conceived me.

 I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem,
By the gazelles or by the does of the field,
Do not stir up nor awaken love
Until it pleases.

 Who is this coming out of the wilderness
Like pillars of smoke,
Perfumed with myrrh and frankincense,
With all the merchant’s fragrant powders?
 Behold, it is Solomon’s couch,
With sixty valiant men around it,
Of the valiant of Israel.
 They all hold swords,
Being expert in war.
Every man has his sword on his thigh
Because of fear in the night.

 Of the wood of Lebanon
Solomon the King
Made himself a palanquin:
 He made its pillars of silver,
Its support of gold,
Its seat of purple,
Its interior paved with love
By the daughters of Jerusalem.
 Go forth, O daughters of Zion,
And see King Solomon with the crown
With which his mother crowned him
On the day of his wedding,
The day of the gladness of his heart.

 Awake, O north wind,
And come, O south!
Blow upon my garden,
That its spices may flow out.
Let my beloved come to his garden
And eat its pleasant fruits.

 I sleep, but my heart is awake;
It is the voice of my beloved!
He knocks, saying,
“Open for me, my sister, my love,
My dove, my perfect one;
For my head is covered with dew,
My locks with the drops of the night.”

 I have taken off my robe;
How can I put it on again?
I have washed my feet;
How can I defile them?
 My beloved put his hand
By the latch of the door,
And my heart yearned for him.
 I arose to open for my beloved,
And my hands dripped with myrrh,
My fingers with liquid myrrh,
On the handles of the lock.

 I opened for my beloved,
But my beloved had turned away and was gone.
My heart leaped up when he spoke.
I sought him, but I could not find him;
I called him, but he gave me no answer.
 The watchmen who went about the city found me.
They struck me, they wounded me;
The keepers of the walls
Took my veil away from me.
 I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem,
If you find my beloved,
That you tell him I am lovesick!

 My beloved is white and ruddy,
Chief among ten thousand.
 His head is like the finest gold;
His locks are wavy,
And black as a raven.
 His eyes are like doves
By the rivers of waters,
Washed with milk,
And fitly set.
 His cheeks are like a bed of spices,
Banks of scented herbs.
His lips are lilies,
Dripping liquid myrrh.

 His hands are rods of gold
Set with beryl.
His body is carved ivory
Inlaid with sapphires. 

His legs are pillars of marble
Set on bases of fine gold.
His countenance is like Lebanon,
Excellent as the cedars.
 His mouth is most sweet,
Yes, he is altogether lovely.
This is my beloved,
And this is my friend,
O daughters of Jerusalem!

 My beloved has gone to his garden,
To the beds of spices,
To feed his flock in the gardens,
And to gather lilies.
 I am my beloved’s,
And my beloved is mine.
He feeds his flock among the lilies.

 I went down to the garden of nuts
To see the verdure of the valley,
To see whether the vine had budded
And the pomegranates had bloomed.
 Before I was even aware,
My soul had made me
As the chariots of my noble people.

What would you see in the Shulamite—
As it were, the dance of the two camps?

The wine goes down smoothly for my beloved,
Moving gently the lips of sleepers.

 I am my beloved’s,
And his desire is toward me.

 Come, my beloved,
Let us go forth to the field;
Let us lodge in the villages.
 Let us get up early to the vineyards;
Let us see if the vine has budded,
Whether the grape blossoms are open,
And the pomegranates are in bloom.
There I will give you my love.
 The mandrakes give off a fragrance,
And at our gates are pleasant fruits,
All manner, new and old,
Which I have laid up for you, my beloved.

 Oh, that you were like my brother,
Who nursed at my mother’s breasts!
If I should find you outside,
I would kiss you;
I would not be despised.
 I would lead you and bring you
Into the house of my mother,
She who used to instruct me.
I would cause you to drink of spiced wine,
Of the juice of my pomegranate.