A bundle of myrrh is my well-beloved unto me; he shall lie all night betwixt my breasts.

By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.

They all hold swords, being expert in war: every man hath his sword upon his thigh because of fear in the night.

I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night.