An Outline of the Songs of Songs

Descriptive Dialogue—1:1 to 2:7

BRIDE:

O that you would kiss me
With the kisses of your mouth!
For your love is better than wine,
Your anointing oils are fragrant,
Your name pours like oil—
That’s why the maidens love you!
Take me with you—let’s hurry!
The king has brought me to his rooms,
I will revel and rejoice in you,
I will praise your love more than wine.
—Why shouldn’t they love you!

I am tanned, but comely, Daughters of Jerusalem!
Like the tents of Arabia, like the curtains of Solomon.
Don’t stare at me because I am sun-scorched!

[aside]

My mother’s sons despised me,
They made me the vineyard-keeper.

[whispers]

But my own vineyard I haven’t kept!

Tell me! You whom my soul loves—
Where do you pasture your flock?
Where does it lie down at noon?
For, I don’t want to be a blunderer
Into the flocks of your neighbors!

GROOM:

If you don’t know, fairest of women,
Then follow the tracks of the flock.
And pasture your goats beside my shepherd’s tents.
I compare you, little friend,
To a mare in Pharoah’s cavalry.
Your cheeks are beautiful with braids, and your neck with chains;
I will make you jewelry of gold, inlaid with silver.

BRIDE:

While the king was on his couch, he was like spikenard fragrance.
My love is to me a bag of myrrh, lying between my breasts.
My love is to me a cluster of henna, in the vineyards of En-Gedi.

GROOM:

Look! You are beautiful, little friend;
See, you are beautiful.
Your eyes are doves.
Look! You are beautiful, love. Really beautiful.
Our couch is the green, the beams of our house are cedar,
Our rafters boughs of pine.

BRIDE:

I am a Rose of Sharon, a lily of the valley.

GROOM:

Like a lily among thorns, is my love among the maidens.

BRIDE:

Like an apple tree, among trees of the wood,
So is my love among the young men.
With delight I sit in his shadow, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
He brought me to his banquet hall, and his banner over me was love.
Revive me with raisin cakes and with apples;
I am love-sick.
His left hand is under my head, and his right arm around me.

I charge you, Daughters of Jerusalem!
Don’t awaken my love, until he’s ready!

The voice of my love!
Look, he’s coming, bounding over the hills.
My love is like a gazelle.
See, there he stands, behind our wall,
Looking in the window, looking through the shutter.
My love speaks, and says to me:
Arise, little friend—come away!
Winter is past, the rain has come and gone
The flowers appear from the ground
The time of song has come,
The voice of the turtledove is heard in the land.
Arise, little friend, my pretty one—come away!
To the clefts of the rock, my dove—to the cliff’s shelter.
Let me see your face, let me hear your voice
For your voice is sweet, and your face is beautiful.
My love is mine, and I am his!
He pastures his flock in the lilies,
Until the day breathes and the shadows flee.
Return, love, like a gazelle, on the mountains of Beth-er!

Upon my bed at night, I sought him whom my soul loves.
I sought him, but found him not; I called him, but he gave no answer
“I will get up and search the town, all the streets and squares;
I will find the one my soul loves.”
I sought him, but found him not.
But the watchmen found me, making their rounds;
“Have you seen him? The one my soul loves?”
I had scarcely passed them, when I found the one my soul loves.
I held him, would not let him go
Until I brought him to my mother’s house
To the bedroom of her that conceived me.

I charge you, Daughters of Jerusalem!
Do not awaken my love until he is ready!

Who is that, winding up from the wilderness like a column of incense?
Scented with myrrh and frankincense, and all the powders of the perfumery?
See! It is the litter of Solomon!
Guarded by sixty warriors of the Royal Guard of Israel,
Buckled into their swords, battle-hardened,
With their scabbards belted low, against the dangers of the night.
A palanquin was made for Solomon from Lebanese cedar.
He made the posts of silver, its supports gold, its pillows purple:
Embroidered with love-motifs by the Daughters of Jerusalem.
Go forth, Daughters of Jerusalem: behold King Solomon—
With the crown with which his mother crowned him
On the day of his wedding, on the day his heart was glad.

Look, you are beautiful, little friend; see, you are beautiful!
Your eyes are doves behind your veil.
Your hair is like a flock of goats streaming down the slope of Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of new-shorn ewes, coming up from washing.
Your lips are like a scarlet thread, your mouth beautiful.
Your cheeks like pomegranate halves behind your veil.
Your neck is like the tower of David, coursing upward
A thousand bucklers on its walls, splendid warriors’ shields.
You are beautiful, little friend, you have no flaw.
Come with me from Lebanon, my bride
Come down from the peak of Amana, from the top of Hermon,
From the dens of lions, from the mountains of the leopards.
You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride!
You ravished my heart, with a glance of your eye, with a sparkle of your necklace.
How sweet is your love, my sister, my bride!
How better your love than wine, the fragrance of your oils than spice.
Your lips drip nectar, my bride, honey and milk are under your tongue
The scent of your clothes is the scent of Lebanon.
A garden locked, is my sister, my bride;
A garden locked, a fountain sealed.
Your branches are an orchard of pomegranates,
Of choicest fruit, of finest spice,
A garden fountain, a well of deep water, a flowing stream of Lebanon.
BRIDE: “Awake North Wind! Come South Wind!
Blow across my garden, spread its fragrance wide,
Draw my love to his garden, to eat its choicest fruit.”
GROOM: “I come to my garden, my sister, my bride
I gather my myrrh and my spice,
I eat my honeycomb and my honey,
I drink my wine and my milk.”

I slept, but my heart was awake.
Listen! My love is knocking!
“Open for me, my sister, little friend, my dove, my perfect one
For my head is wet with dew, my hair with the night’s damp.”
Oh! For I have taken off my dress—should I put it on?
I have washed my feet—should I soil them?
My lover took his hand from the latch, and my stomach churned.
I rose to open for my lover,
And my fingers dripped with myrrh-sap on the bolt-handle.
I opened to my lover.
But he had turned and gone.
My soul went out like a light.
I sought him, but found him not
I called him, but no answer.
But the watchmen found me, in their city rounds.
They beat me, they wounded me
Took away my cloak, those watchmen of the walls.

Swear to me, Daughters of Jerusalem!
If you find my love, will you tell him?
That I am sick from love.
DAUGHTERS: What is your lover more than another lover,
Fairest of women?
What is your lover more than another lover,
That you make us swear thus?
My love is radiant, and ruddy
A standout in ten thousand
His head is finest gold, his locks are curly, black as a raven.
His eyes are like doves beside water-pools
Bathed in milk, set like jewels
His cheeks are like spice-beds, wafting fragrance.
His lips are like lilies, dripping myrrh-sap.
His arms are hammered gold, studded with Tarshish-jewels.
His belly is an ivory plate, encrusted with sapphires.
His legs are alabaster pillars, on golden bases.
He looks like Lebanon, choice as the cedars.
His mouth is sweet: he is totally desirable.
Thus my lover, thus my little friend, Daughters of Jerusalem!
DAUGHTERS: Where has your love gone,
Fairest of women?
Where has your love turned
So we may help you find him?
Alas, has my lover gone down to his garden, to his spice-beds
To pasture his flock in the gardens, to gather lilies?
I am my lover’s, and my lover is mine—
He who pastures his flock among the lilies.

You are beautiful as Tirzah, my love,
Lovely as Jerusalem,
Terrible as an army with battle-flags!
Turn your eyes away from me, for they dazzle me.
There are sixty queens and eighty concubines,
And serving-girls I cannot count;
My dove, my perfect, is alone.
The serving-girls saw, and called her lucky,
The queens and concubines also praised her:
“Who is this that looks forth like the dawn?
Fair as the moon,
Bright as the sun,
And terrible as an army with banners?

I went down to the walnut-grove, to look at the rushes of the stream;
To see if the vines had budded, or the pomegranates bloomed.
Suddenly, unawares,
I was set in a chariot beside my prince!
DAUGHTERS: Return, Return, girl from Shulam!
Return so we can see you again!
Why do you wish to see the girl from Shulam, dancing as between two columns?

How graceful are your feet in sandals, princess maiden!
Your neck is like an ivory tower, hung with battle-shields.
Your eyes are pools in Heshbon, by the gates of Beth-Rabbim.
Your head you carry like Carmel, and your flowing locks are purple:
A king is trapped in your tresses.
How beautiful and pleasing you are, loved one, daughter of delight!
You are stately as a palm tree,
Your breath like apricots.
And your kisses like fine wine, going down smoothly, flowing over lips and palate.

I am my lover’s, and for me is his desire.
Come love, let’s go out to the fields, and lie among the cypress.
Let’s go out early to the vineyard
And see if the vines have budded, the grape blossoms opened, the pomegranates bloomed.
There I will give you my love, where the mandrakes give their fragrance.
O, that you were a brother, that nursed at my mother’s breast!
If I met you in the street I could kiss you, and no one would scorn me.
I would lead you, and bring you to my mother’s house,
To the rooms of her that conceived me.
I would give you spiced wine to drink, the juice of pomegranates.
O that his left arm was under my head, and his right arm around me!

I charge you, Daughters of Jerusalem,
Not to awaken my love until he is ready!

Who is this, coming up from the wilderness, leaning on her lover’s arm?
Wear me as a seal upon your heart, an amulet on your arm:
For love is strong as death, passion as fierce as the grave.
Its sparks are darts of fire, its embers rage.
Many waters can’t quench love, nor floods drown it.
If one offered for love all the wealth of his house,
Would he not be scorned?

My brothers said,
We have a little sister, no man will ever want.
What can we do for our sister, that she may be spoken for?
If she were a wall, we could build on her a silver tower.
If she were a doorway, we could close her with a door of cedar boards.
I was a wall: like silver did I tower;
And in his eyes, I brought contentment.

Solomon had a vineyard at Baal-Hamon, he leased it to tenants.
Each was to bring for its produce, a thousand talents of silver.
My vineyard, my own, is mine.
Solomon, you may have the thousand.

O you who dwell in the gardens,
My friends listen for your voice.
Let me hear it.
Hurry, love,
Like a gazelle, a young stag on the spice-mountains.