All of them are wielders of the sword, Expert in war; Each man has his sword at his side, Guarding against the terrors of the night.

King Solomon has made for himself a sedan chair From the timber of Lebanon.

He made its posts of silver, Its back of gold And its seat of purple fabric, With its interior lovingly inlaid By the daughters of Jerusalem.

Go out, you daughters of Zion, And look at King Solomon with the crown With which his mother has crowned him On the day of his wedding, And on the day of the joy of his heart.”

Solomon’s Love Expressed

“How beautiful you are, my darling, How beautiful you are! Your eyes are like doves behind your veil; Your hair is like a flock of goats That have descended from Mount Gilead.

Your teeth are like a flock of newly shorn sheep Which have come up from their watering place, All of which bear twins, And not one among them has lost her young.

Your lips are like a scarlet thread, And your mouth is beautiful. Your temples are like a slice of a pomegranate Behind your veil.

Your neck is like the tower of David, Built with layers of stones On which are hung a thousand shields, All the round shields of the warriors.

Until the cool of the day When the shadows flee, I will go my way to the mountain of myrrh And to the hill of frankincense.

Come with me from Lebanon, my bride, You shall come with me from Lebanon. You shall come down from the summit of Amana, From the summit of Senir and Hermon, From the dens of lions, From the mountains of leopards.

You have enchanted my heart, my sister, my bride; You have enchanted my heart with a single glance of your eyes, With a single strand of your necklace.

How beautiful is your love, my sister, my bride! How much sweeter is your love than wine, And the fragrance of your oils Than that of all kinds of balsam oils!

A locked garden is my sister, my bride, A locked spring, a sealed fountain.

Nard and saffron, spice reed and cinnamon, With all the trees of frankincense, Myrrh, and aloes, along with all the finest balsam oils.

You are a garden spring, A well of fresh water, And flowing streams from Lebanon.”

The Bride

“Awake, north wind, And come, wind of the south; Make my garden breathe out fragrance, May its balsam oils flow. May my beloved come into his garden And eat its delicious fruits!”

The Torment of Separation

The Groom

“I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride; I have gathered my myrrh along with my balsam. I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, friends; Drink and drink deeply, lovers.”

The Bride

“I was asleep but my heart was awake. A voice! My beloved was knocking: ‘Open to me, my sister, my darling, My dove, my perfect one! For my head is drenched with dew, My locks with the dew drops of the night.’

My beloved extended his hand through the opening, And my feelings were stirred for him.

I opened to my beloved, But my beloved had turned away and had gone! My heart went out to him as he spoke. I searched for him but I did not find him; I called him but he did not answer me.

The watchmen who make the rounds in the city found me, They struck me and wounded me; The guards of the walls took my shawl away from me.

Swear to me, you daughters of Jerusalem, If you find my beloved, As to what you will tell him: For I am lovesick.”

The Chorus

“What kind of beloved is your beloved, O most beautiful among women? What kind of beloved is your beloved, That you make us swear in this way?”

His eyes are like doves Beside streams of water, Bathed in milk, And perched in their setting.

His cheeks are like a bed of balsam, Banks of herbal spices; His lips are lilies Dripping with drops of myrrh.