I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride.
I have gathered my myrrh with my spice; I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey; I have drunk my wine with my milk.
Friends Eat, friends!
Drink, yes, drink abundantly, beloved.
I was asleep, but my heart was awake.
It is the voice of my beloved who knocks: “Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my head is filled with dew, and my hair with the dampness of the night.”
I have taken off my robe.
Indeed, must I put it on?
I have washed my feet.
Indeed, must I soil them?