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SNG

1 The song of all songs, which is Solomon’s.

Oh for a kiss from your lips

your caresses are dearer than wine,

rare is the fragrance of your perfumes,

the sound of your name is wafted like scent.

The girls are all in love with you;

but draw me to you--let us haste--

bring me to your chamber, O my king,

and there let us thrill with delight;

caresses from you will be dearer than wine--

no wonder girls adore you!

I am dark, but I am a beauty

maidens of Jerusalem

dark as tents of the Black men

beautiful as curtains of a Solomon.

Scorn me not for being dark

for the sun has tanned me

my brothers in anger set m

to look after the vineyard

but I did not look after the vineyard of my charms.

Tell me, love of my soul,

where do you rest your flock at noon;

for why should I go roamin

from flock to flock of your mates?

“Fairest of women, if you know not,

follow the sheep-tracks

and pasture your kid

by the tents of the herdsmen.

I liken you, my dear,

to a filly in the Pharaoh’s chariot--

your cheeks so fair with braided plaits,

your neck with strings of jewels;

we will have golden beads strung round you

studded with silver.”

When my king lies on his diwan

my charms breathe out their fragrance;

my darling is my bunch of myrr

that lies between my breasts,

my darling is my bunch of henna-blossom

from the gardens of Engedi.

“How fair you are, my dear

how fair with dove-like eyes!”

And how fair you are, my dar- ling,

oh how sweet!

Our bed of love is the green sward,

our roof-beams are yon cedar-boughs,

our rafters are the firs.

I am only a blossom of the plain,

a mere lily of the dale.

“Like a lily among briars,

so is my dear among women!”

And like an apple-tree in the forest,

so is my darling among men

under his shadow I love to lie

tasting his sweet fruit.

He has brought me to his chamber of joy

hung over with love.

Sustain me with raisins,

revive me with apples

for I swoon with love!

Let his left hand caress my head,

let his right hand embrace me.

O maidens of Jerusalem, I charge you,

by the roe-deer and the hinds

never rouse lovers, never stir them,

till they are satisfied.

Listen, it is my darling,

there he is, coming to me

leaping across the mountains

bounding over the hills!

There he stands behind our wall,

gazing through the window

glancing through the lattice!

And he calls to me, my darling,

“Come, dear,come, my beauty!

For winter is over,

the rains are by,

the country’s a-flower,

’tis the season for pruning

the ring-dove’s note is heard,

the figs are ripening red,

the vines are all blossom and fragrance--

come, dear, come away, my beauty!

O my dove, from the clefts of your rock,

from your nook in the cliff

oh let me see your form

let me hear your voice

your voice so sweet

your form so fair!”

(Catch us the foxes,

the little foxes

that gnaw at our vines

when the vines are in bloom.)

My darling is mine, and I am his,

he feeds among my lilies.

Till the cool of the dawn,

till the shadows depart

oh turn to me, darling

and play like a roe or a har

on my perfumed slopes!

Night after night in be

I dreamed I sought my beloved,

and sought him in vain.

“I will rise and search the town,” said I,

“through street and square

in quest of my beloved”

but all in vain.

The watchmen met me on their rounds;

“Have you seen my beloved?” I said.

Scarce had I left them

when I found my own beloved;

I held him fast in my embrac

and brought him to my mother’s house.

What is this, coming up from the country

like columns of smoke

perfumed with myrrh and frankincense,

with every scent to be bought?

’Tis the palanquin of Solomon

with sixty of a guard

sixty of Israel’s braves,

armed each with a sword,

all expert in fight

each with sword on thig

for alarms by night.

My king has made him a seda

of wood from Lebanon,

silver the feet of it,

golden the back of it

purple the seat of it

inlaid with ebony.

Maidens of Sion,

come, look at my king,

crowned by his mothe

the day of his marriage

the day of his rapture.

“Ah, you are fair, my dear, A so fair,

with dove-like eye

behind your veil!

Dark stream the tresses of your hair

like goats a-down the slopes of Gilead;

your teeth are like shorn ewe

fresh from the dipping,

paired together in rows,

not one a-wanting;

your lips like a scarlet thread,

your mouth so delicious

your cheeks like slices of pomegranate

behind your veil;

your neck like David’s tower

adorned with trophies

hung round with a thousand targes,

all armour of heroes;

your breasts like a pair of fawns,

twins of a roe-deer!

Yes, till the cool of the dawn,

till the shadows depart,

will hie me to your scented slopes,

your fragrant charms.

You are all fair, my dear,

you are spotless.

Come from Lebanon, bride of mine,

come with me from Lebanon

from the peak of Amana

the lair of the lions

from the peaks of Shenir and Hermon,

the hill-haunt of panthers.

My bride, my own,

you have ravished my heart

you have ravished my hear

with a glance from your eye

with a turn of your neck

How sweet your caresses

my bride, my own

far sweeter than wine!

Your lips drop honey, my bride,

your whispers are honey and milk;

the scent of your robes is as scent of Lebanon,

no spice so sweet as your fragrance.

My own, my bride, a garden enclosed,

a spring of water sealed secure!

Your charms are a pomegranate paradise--

with henna and roses

and spikenard and saffron,

with cassia and cinnamon

all sorts of frankincense,

with myrrh and with eaglewood, all the best spices!

You are the fountain of my garden,

a well of fresh water

like streams from Lebanon.

O north wind, waken,

O south wind, blow

and breathe on my garden

to waft out the perfume!”

Let my darling come into his garden,

let him taste the choice fruits that are his!

“My own, my bride, I come e* into my garden

to gather me balsam and myrrh,

to eat my honey in the comb

to drink my wine and milk.”

(Eat away, dear ones, drink your fill of love!)

I slept, but my heart lay waking;

O dreamed--ah! there is my darling knocking!

“Open to me, my own,” he calls

“my dear, my dove, my paragon!

My head is drenched with dew

my hair with drops of the night.”

“But I have doffed my robe

why should I don it?

My feet are bathed;

why should I soil them?”

Then my darling put his hand in

his right hand at the door

and my heart yearned for him

how my soul fainted when I heard him!

So I rose to let my darling in,

my hands all moist with myrrh,

my fingers' wet with liquid myrrh,

that dripped on the catch of the bolt.

I opened to my darling,

but, my darling, he had gone

I sought him, but I could not find him,

I called, he never answered.

The watchmen met me on their rounds,

struck me and wounded me

they robbed me of my mantle

these warders of the walls.

O maidens of Jerusalem, I charge you

if you find my darling

tell my darling this

that I am lovesick.

“And what is your darling more than another,

O fairest of women?

What is your darling above all others,

that you charge us thus?”

Fresh and ruddy is my darling,

the pick of ten thousand;

his head is a crown of gold,

his curls black as the raven,

his eyes like doves upon the water,

bathed in milk, limpid and swimming,

his cheeks are beds of balsam-flower,

banks of sweet perfume

his lips are lilies red

breathing liquid myrrh,

his fingers are golden tapers

tipped with topaz pink,

his body is wrought of ivory

blue-veined with sapphire,

his limbs are marble columns

resting on sockets of gold

he towers to the eye like Lebanon,

as lordly as a cedar,

his kisses are utterly sweet--

he is all a delight!

And that is my darling, my dear,

O maidens of Jerusalem!

“And where has your darling gone,

O fairest of women

where has your darling wandered,

that we may look for him too?”

My darling goes to his garden

to flower-beds of balsam

to feed within his garden

and to gather lilies.

For I am my darling’s, my darling ie mine,

he feeds among my lilies.

“You are fair as a crocus, my dear,

lovely as a lily of the valley

you overawe me like an army with banners--

ah, turn aside those eyes of yours,

they daunt me!

Dark stream the tresses of your hair

like goats a-down the slopes of Gilead;

your teeth are like shorn ewe

fresh from the dipping

paired together in rows

not one a-wanting;

your cheeks like slices of pomegranate

behind your veil.”

Sixty queens had Solomon

eighty concubines

maidens without number;

but one alone is my dove, my spotless one,

her mother’s own darling.

Women eye and honour her

queens, concubines, sing in praise of her:

“Who is this, glowing like the dawn,

fair as the moon

clear as the sun

overawing like an army with banners?”

Down I went to the walnut-bower,

to see the green plants of the dale,

to see if the vines were a-bud- ding,

and the pomegranates in flower. 12 . . .

“Maid of Shulem, turn, ah turn, turn, ah turn, that we may see you.”

And what would you see in the maid of Shulem?

“We would see her in the sword-dance.”

How neatly you trip it,

O princess mine

your thighs are swaying like links of a chai

that a master-hand has moulded;

your waist is round as a goble

(ever be it filled!)

your body a bundle of whea

encircled by lilies;

your breasts like a pair of fawns

twins of a roe-deer;

your neck like an ivory tower

your head on it lofty as Karmel;

your eyes like the pools at Heshbon,

by the gate of that populous town;

your nose like the tower at Lebanon

that faces Damascus;

your hair as glossy as purple-

its tresses hold captive your lord;

“How fair, O my love!” he cries

“how delicious for love’s delight!

You stand there straight as a palm,

with breasts like clusters of fruit;

methinks I will climb that palm

taking hold of the boughs!

Oh may your breasts be clusters of fruit,

and your breath sweet as an apple!

May your kisses be exquisite wine

that slips so smoothly down

gliding over the lips and the teeth!”

I am my darling’s, and he--

he is longing for me.

Come away to the fields, O my darling,

let us sleep in the blossoms of henna,

and hie us at dawn to the vineyards,

to see if the vines are a-budding,

if their blossoms are open

if pomegranates bloom;

and there I will give you caresses of love,

love’s apples yielding their scent,

and the fruitage of all my charms—

choice fruits, old and new,

I have kept them, my darling, for you.

Ah, were you but my brother,

nursed at the breasts of my mother,

I would kiss you wherever I met you,

with none to despise me;

to my mother’s house would I bring you,

to the chamber of her who bore me,

spiced wine would I give you to drink,

a draught of my pomegranate wine.

(Who is this, coming up from the country,

leaning on her darling?) * * *

I woke you there, under the apple-tree,

just where you were swaddled,

a babe, just there, by your mother.

Wear me as a seal close to your heart,

wear me like a ring upon your hand;

love is strong as death itself

and passion masters like the grave,

its flashes bum like flame,

true lightning-flashes.

No floods can ever quench this love,

no rivers drown it.

If a man offered all he has for love,

he would be laughed aside.

“We have a young sister,

and she has no breasts yet

but what shall we do with our sister,

when her wooers come?

If she holds out like a wall

we will adorn her with silver for dowry;

if she gives way to lovers like a door,

then we will plank her up.”

Now I was a wall,

with breasts like towers;

when my darling looked at me,

I won his heart.

“Solomon had once a vineyard at Baal-Hermon

and he leased it out to keepers,

for a thousand silver pieces, for its fruit.

I keep my vineyard to my- self:

you are welcome to your silver, Solomon,

welcome to your fruit, you keepers!”

My comrades hear your voice

girl in the garden haunt

ah, let me hear it too!--

“Hasten, then, O my darling

play like a roe or a hart

upon my scented slopes!”