Singing of the songs. Chapter five. I came to my garden, oh,
sister, my wife. I' ve picked up my mist and my
scents. I' ve eaten my honey and honey, my wine and my
milk. I have drunk eat friends, drink abundantly, O beloved, I
slept, but my heart watched. It is the voice of my beloved who
calls me Open Sister, mine, friend, mine, dove, my perfect,
mine, because my head is full of dew, my hair, the
drops of the night. I' ve undressed my clothes. How I'
m supposed to dress. I' ve washed my feet, how I know
how to get dirty. My beloved put his hand through the window and my
heart was moved within me. I got up to open my beloved and my
hands dripped my myrrh and my fingers myrrh that ran over the hands of the
redhead. I opened to my beloved, but my beloved was gone, had
passed away, and after his speech my soul came out. I looked it
up and I didn' t find it. I called him and he didn
' t answer me. They found me. The guards around the city beat
me, wounded me, took my cloak from me, the guards from the
walls. I adjure you, O Maidens of Jerusalem. If you find my
beloved to let him know that I am sick of love, what is your
beloved more than another beloved, Oh, the most beautiful of all women,
what is taken more than another beloved who thus conjures us. My beloved is
white and blond, marked among ten thousand, his head as fine gold,
his hair black cresps, like the bervo, his eyes as doves. Next
to the streams of the waters washed with milk and perfectly placed, his cheeks
as an era of aromatic spices, as fragrant flowers, his lips as lilies
distilling fragrant myrrh, his hands as gold rings set with hyacinths, his body
as clear ivory covered with sapphires, his legs as marble columns founded on bases
of fine gold, his appearance as the chosen Lebanese, like cedars, his
sweet palate and all the coveted. Such is my beloved, such is my
friend or Maidens of Jerusalem,