Do not stare at me,
For the sun has burned me.

Like a lily among the thorns,
So is my darling among the maidens.
Like an apple tree among the trees of the forest,
So is my beloved among the young men.

Let his left hand be under my head
And his right hand embrace me.

There are sixty queens and eighty concubines,
And maidens without number;
But my dove, my perfect one, is unique:
She is her mother’s only daughter;
She is the pure child of the one who bore her.

Let me hear your voice.
My beloved is mine, and I am his.

On my bed night after night I sought him
Whom my soul loves;
I sought him but did not find him.
‘I must arise now and go about the city;
In the streets and in the squares
I must seek him whom my soul loves’
I sought him but did not find him.

The watchman who makes the rounds in the
city found me,
And I said, ‘Have you seen him whom my
Soul loves?’
Scarcely had I left them
When I found him whom my soul loves;
I held onto him and would not let him go.

What kind of beloved is your beloved,
O most beautiful among women?
What kind of beloved is your beloved?

How beautiful is your love, my sister, my bride.

I was asleep but my heart was awake.
A voice! My beloved was knocking:
‘Open to me, my sister, my darling,
My dove, my perfect one!
For my head is drenched with dew,
My locks with the damp of the night.’

I have taken off my dress,
How can I put it on again?
I have washed my feet,
How can I dirty them again?

My beloved extended his hand through the
Opening,
And my feelings were aroused for him.
I arose to open to my beloved;
And my hands dripped with myrrh,
And my fingers with liquid myrrh,
On the handles of the bolt.
I opened to my beloved,
But my beloved had turned away and had
Gone.

My heart went out to him as he spoke.
I searched for him but he did not answer me.

The watchmen who make the rounds in the
City found me,
They struck me and wounded me;
The guardsmen of the walls took away my
Shawl from me.

What kind of beloved is your beloved,
O most beautiful among women?
What kind of beloved is your beloved?

His locks are like clusters of dates
And black as a raven.
Eyes bathed in milk,
And reposed in their setting.

Where has your beloved gone,
O most beautiful among women?
Where has your beloved turned?

Do not stare at me,
For the sun has burned me.

You are beautiful, my darling,
As awesome as an army with banners.
Turn your eyes from me,
For they have confused me.

Who is she that rises like the dawn,
Fair as the full moon,
Pure as the sun,
Terrible as an army with banners?

I am my beloved’s.
And his desire is for me,
Both new and old,
Which I have saved up for you, my
beloved.

Let his left hand be under my head
And his right hand embrace me.

If I found you outdoors, I would kiss you;
No one would despise me, either.
I would lead you and bring you
Into the house of my mother, who used to
Instruct me.

My beloved responded and said to me,
‘Arise my darling, my beautiful one,
And come along.
For behold, the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone.’

And the fragrance of your breath is like apples,
Through the lips of those who fall asleep.

Draw me after you and let us run together!

Let his left hand be under my head
And his right embrace me.

Who is this coming up from the wilderness
Leaning on her beloved?

Where has your beloved gone,
O most beautiful among women?
Where has your beloved turned?

There are sixty queens and eighty concubines,
And maidens without number;
But my dove, my perfect one, is unique:
She is her mother’s only daughter;
She is the pure child of the one who bore her.

Beneath the apple tree I awakened you.

Put me as a seal over your heart,
As a seal upon your arm.
For love is as strong as death,
Jealousy as severe as Sheol;
Its flashes are flashes of fire,
The very flame of Jehovah.
Many waters cannot quench love,
Nor rivers overflow it.

Where has your beloved turned?

How beautiful is your love, my sister, my bride.



-слова бога через меня