Song of Solomon 5:2–8

I slept, but my heart was awake.

A sound! My beloved is knocking.

“Open to me, my sister, my love,

my dove, my perfect one,

for my head is wet with dew,

my locks with the drops of the night.”

I had put off my garment;

how could I put it on?

I had bathed my feet;

how could I soil them?

My beloved put his hand to the latch,

and my heart was thrilled within me.

I arose to open to my beloved,

and my hands dripped with myrrh,

my fingers with liquid myrrh,

on the handles of the bolt.

I opened to my beloved,

but my beloved had turned and gone.

My soul failed me when he spoke.

I sought him, but found him not;

I called him, but he gave no answer.

The watchmen found me

as they went about in the city;

they beat me, they bruised me,

they took away my veil,

those watchmen of the walls.

I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem,

if you find my beloved,

that you tell him

I am sick with love.

I slept 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 dampness of the night.”

I have taken off my robe—

must I put it on again?

I have washed my feet—

must I soil them again?

My beloved thrust his hand through the latch-opening;

my heart began to pound for him.

I arose to open for my beloved,

and my hands dripped with myrrh,

my fingers with flowing myrrh,

on the handles of the bolt.

I opened for my beloved,

but my beloved had left; he was gone.

My heart sank at his departure.

I looked for him but did not find him.

I called him but he did not answer.

The watchmen found me

as they made their rounds in the city.

They beat me, they bruised me;

they took away my cloak,

those watchmen of the walls!

Daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you—

if you find my beloved,

what will you tell him?

Tell him I am faint with love.

I was sleeping, but my heart was awake.

A sound! My love was knocking!

Open to me, my sister, my darling,

my dove, my perfect one.

For my head is drenched with dew,

my hair with droplets of the night.

I have taken off my clothing.

How can I put it back on?

I have washed my feet.

How can I get them dirty?

My love thrust his hand through the opening,

and my feelings were stirred for him.

I rose to open for my love.

My hands dripped with myrrh,

my fingers with flowing myrrh

on the handles of the bolt.

I opened to my love,

but my love had turned and gone away.

My heart sank because he had left.

I sought him, but did not find him.

I called him, but he did not answer.

The guards who go about the city found me.

They beat and wounded me;

they took my cloak from me—

the guardians of the walls.

Young women of Jerusalem, I charge you,

if you find my love,

tell him that I am lovesick.

I slept, but my heart was awake,

when I heard my lover knocking and calling:

“Open to me, my treasure, my darling,

my dove, my perfect one.

My head is drenched with dew,

my hair with the dampness of the night.”

But I responded,

“I have taken off my robe.

Should I get dressed again?

I have washed my feet.

Should I get them soiled?”

My lover tried to unlatch the door,

and my heart thrilled within me.

I jumped up to open the door for my love,

and my hands dripped with perfume.

My fingers dripped with lovely myrrh

as I pulled back the bolt.

I opened to my lover,

but he was gone!

My heart sank.

I searched for him

but could not find him anywhere.

I called to him,

but there was no reply.

The night watchmen found me

as they made their rounds.

They beat and bruised me

and stripped off my veil,

those watchmen on the walls.

Make this promise, O women of Jerusalem—

If you find my lover,

tell him I am weak with love.

I was asleep but my heart was awake.

A sound! My beloved knocking!

“Open to me, my sister, my beloved,

my dove, my perfect one!

For my head is full of dew,

my hair drenched from the moist night air.”

I have taken off my tunic, must I put it on?

I have bathed my feet, must I soil them?

My beloved thrust his hand into the opening,

and my inmost yearned for him.

I myself arose to open to my beloved;

my hands dripped with myrrh,

my fingers with liquid myrrh

upon the handles of the bolt.

I opened myself to my beloved,

but my beloved had turned and gone;

my heart sank when he turned away.

I sought him, but I did not find him;

I called him, but he did not answer me.

The sentinels making rounds in the city found me;

they beat me, they wounded me;

they took my cloak away from me—

those sentinels on the walls!

I adjure you, O maidens of Jerusalem,

if you find my beloved, what will you tell him?

Tell him that I am lovesick!

I sleep, but my heart waketh:

It is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying,

Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled:

For my head is filled with dew,

And my locks with the drops of the night.

I have put off my coat; how shall I put it on?

I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?

My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door,

And my bowels were moved for him.

I rose up to open to my beloved;

And my hands dropped with myrrh,

And my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh,

Upon the handles of the lock.

I opened to my beloved;

But my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone:

My soul failed when he spake:

I sought him, but I could not find him;

I called him, but he gave me no answer.

The watchmen that went about the city found me,

They smote me, they wounded me;

The keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.

I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem,

If ye find my beloved, that ye tell him,

That I am sick of love.