The Song of Songs, which is Solomon's.
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth! For your love is better than wine.
Your anointing oils have a pleasant fragrance; Your name is like ointment poured forth; Therefore the virgins love you.
Draw me; we will run after you-The king has brought me into his chambers-We will be glad and rejoice in you; We will extol your love more than wine. Rightly do they love you.
I am black but lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem, Like the tents of Kedar, like the curtains of Solomon.
Do not look at me, because I am black, Because the sun has scorched me. My mother's sons were angry with me; They made me keeper of the vineyards, But my own vineyard I have not kept.
Tell me, you whom my soul loves, Where do you pasture your flock? Where do you make it lie down at noon? For why should I be like one who is veiled Beside the flocks of your companions?
If you yourself do not know, You fairest among women, Go forth on the footsteps of the flock, And pasture your young goats By the shepherds' tents.
I compare you, my love, To a mare among Pharaoh's chariots.
Your cheeks are lovely with plaits of ornaments, Your neck with strings of jewels.
We will make you plaits of gold With studs of silver.
While the king was at his table, My spikenard gave forth its fragrance.
My beloved is to me a bundle of myrrh That lies at night between my breasts.
My beloved is to me a cluster of henna flowers In the vineyards of En-gedi.
Oh, you are beautiful, my love! Oh, you are beautiful! Your eyes are like doves.
Oh, you are beautiful, my beloved; indeed, pleasant! Indeed, our couch is green.
The beams of our house are cedars; Our rafters are cypresses.
I am a rose of Sharon, A lily of the valleys.
As a lily among thorns, So is my love among the daughters.
As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, So is my beloved among the sons: In his shade I delighted and sat down, And his fruit was sweet to my taste.
He brought me into the banqueting house, And his banner over me was love.
Sustain me with raisin cakes, Refresh me with apples, For I am sick with love.
His left hand is under my head, And his right hand embraces me.
I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, By the gazelles or by the hinds of the fields, Not to rouse up or awaken my love Until she pleases.