Song of Solomon

I've entered my garden, my dear sister and wife. I collected my fragrance with my spice. I ate my sweet treat made of honey with its honey. I drank my wine mixed with milk. Enjoy, dear friends! Drink plenty, my dearest love!

I sleep, but my heart stays awake. It's my lover's voice knocking, asking, "Open to me, my dear, my love, my pure one. I'm wet from the morning dew and my hair is damp from nighttime."

I took off my coat, what do I do now to wear it again? I cleaned my feet, how can I make them dirty again?

My love reached out near the door's hole, and I felt deeply touched for them.

I got up to open for my love; my hands were covered with fragrant myrrh, and my fingers too, on the door handle.

I showed my love, but my loved one left. They didn't respond when I searched for them or called out their name. My heart was sad and empty.

The guards around the city discovered me, they hit me, they hurt me; the wall protectors removed my covering from me.

I ask you, daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my loved one, to tell him that I'm overwhelmed with love.

What makes your special person more important than others, you who are the most beautiful woman? Why do you put such emphasis on this person compared to others?

My love is fair and rosy, the best one among tens of thousands.

His head is like very pure gold, his hair is thick and black, like a raven bird.

His eyes are like dove's eyes near river waters, cleaned with milk, and properly placed.

His cheeks are like a bed of fragrant spices, with sweet flower-like scent: his lips are like lilies, releasing sweet-smelling myrrh.

His hands look like golden rings with sparkly stones, and his belly is shiny ivory decorated with beautiful blue stones.

His legs are like strong marble columns, standing on golden bases. His face is like the beautiful Lebanese mountains with tall cedar trees.

His mouth is very sweet, and he is completely beautiful. He is my favorite person, and he's my friend. To all the women in Jerusalem.