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,