Narrator
Who is this coming up from the wilderness
like columns of smoke,
scented with myrrh and frankincense
from every fragrant powder of the merchant?
Look! Solomon’s bed
surrounded by sixty warriors
from the mighty men of Israel.
All of them are skilled with swords
and trained in warfare.
Each has his sword at his side
to guard against the terror of the night.
King Solomon made a carriage for himself
with wood from Lebanon.
He made its posts of silver,
its back of gold,
and its seat of purple.
Its interior is inlaid with love
by the young women of Jerusalem.
Go out, young women of Zion,
and gaze at King Solomon,
wearing the crown his mother placed on him
on the day of his wedding—
the day of his heart’s rejoicing.
Man
How beautiful you are, my darling.
How very beautiful!
Behind your veil,
your eyes are doves.
Your hair is like a flock of goats
streaming down Mount Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of newly shorn sheep
coming up from washing,
each one bearing twins,
and none has lost its young.
Your lips are like a scarlet cord,
and your mouth is lovely.
Behind your veil,
your brow is like a slice of pomegranate.
Your neck is like the tower of David,
constructed in layers.
A thousand shields are hung on it—
all of them shields of warriors.
Your breasts are like two fawns,
twins of a gazelle, that feed among the lilies.
Until the day breaks
and the shadows flee,
I will make my way to the mountain of myrrh
and the hill of frankincense.
You are absolutely beautiful, my darling;
there is no imperfection in you.
Come with me from Lebanon, my bride;
come with me from Lebanon!
Descend from the peak of Amana,
from the summit of Senir and Hermon,
from the dens of the lions,
from the mountains of the leopards.
You have captured my heart, my sister, my bride.
You have captured my heart with one glance of your eyes,
with one jewel of your necklace.
How delightful your caresses are, my sister, my bride.
Your caresses are much better than wine,
and the fragrance of your perfume than any balsam.
Your lips drip sweetness like the honeycomb, my bride.
Honey and milk are under your tongue.
The fragrance of your garments is like the fragrance of Lebanon.
My sister, my bride, you are a locked garden—
a locked garden and a sealed spring.
Your branches are a paradise of pomegranates
with choicest fruits;
henna with nard,
nard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon,
with all the trees of frankincense,
myrrh and aloes,
with all the best spices.
You are a garden spring,
a well of flowing water
streaming from Lebanon.
Woman
Awaken, north wind;
come, south wind.
Blow on my garden,
and spread the fragrance of its spices.
Let my love come to his garden
and eat its choicest fruits.
Man
I have come to my garden—my sister, my bride.
I gather my myrrh with my spices.
I eat my honeycomb with my honey.
I drink my wine with my milk.
Narrator
Eat, friends!
Drink, be intoxicated with caresses!
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