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Cantique des cantiquesChapitre 5

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I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride. I have gathered my myrrh with my spices, eaten my honeycomb with my honey, drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, friends; drink, and drink deeply, lovers.
I was asleep, but my heart was awake. Listen — my beloved is knocking: "Open to me, my sister, my darling, my dove, my flawless one; my head is drenched with dew, my hair with the damp of the night."
I have taken off my robe — must I put it on again? I have washed my feet — must I soil them?
My beloved reached his hand through the opening, and my inmost being yearned for him.
I rose to open to my beloved, and my hands were dripping with myrrh, my fingers with flowing myrrh, on the handles of the bolt.
I opened to my beloved, but he had turned away and gone. My soul went out to him as he spoke. I looked for him and did not find him; I called him, and he gave no answer.
The watchmen making their rounds in the city found me. They struck me, they wounded me; the guards of the walls stripped away my cloak.
I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem: if you find my beloved, tell him this — that I am faint with love.
What sets your beloved above others, most beautiful of women? What sets your beloved above others, that you charge us so?
My beloved is radiant and ruddy, outstanding among ten thousand.
His head is purest gold; his hair is wavy and black as a raven.
His eyes are like doves beside the streams of water, washed in milk, resting where the waters brim.
His cheeks are like beds of spice, banks of fragrant blossoms; his lips are lilies dripping with flowing myrrh.
His arms are rods of gold set with topaz; his body is polished ivory adorned with sapphires.
His legs are pillars of marble set on bases of gold. His bearing is like Lebanon, majestic as the cedars.
His mouth is sweetness itself; he is altogether desirable. This is my beloved, this is my friend, daughters of Jerusalem.
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