I have come to my garden, my sister-bride,
I have gathered my myrrh with my spices,
I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey
I have drunk my wine with my milk,
eat, friends and drink and drink deep beloved ones;
I am asleep but my heart is awake, the voice of my beloved knocking
‘open to me my sister, my love, o my dove, my perfect one,
for my head is full of dew, my locks with the drops of the night’;
I have taken off my shirt, how can I put it on?
I have washed my feet, how can I defile them?
My beloved sent his hand from the doorway and my depths sigh for him;
I rose to open for my beloved and my hand dripped myrrh
and my fingers with myrrh over the handle of the lock;
I opened for my beloved but my beloved had fled away,
my soul went out at his word, I searched for him but did not find him,
I called to him but he did not answer;
they found me, the watchman, who go about the city,
they struck me, they wounded me, they lifted my veil from me, the watchers of the wall;
I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my beloved, tell him that I am lovesick;
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