1. LOVER: I come into my garden, my sister, my promised bride, I pick my myrrh and balsam, I eat my honey and my honeycomb, I drink my wine and my milk. POET: Eat, friends, and drink, drink deep, my dearest friends.

2. BELOVED: I sleep, but my heart is awake. I hear my love knocking. 'Open to me, my sister, my beloved, my dove, my perfect one, for my head is wet with dew, my hair with the drops of night.'

3. -'I have taken off my tunic, am I to put it on again? I have washed my feet, am I to dirty them again?'

4. My love thrust his hand through the hole in the door; I trembled to the core of my being.

5. Then I got up to open to my love, myrrh ran off my hands, pure myrrh off my fingers, on to the handle of the bolt.

6. I opened to my love, but he had turned and gone. My soul failed at his flight, I sought but could not find him, I called, but he did not answer.

7. The watchmen met me, those who go on their rounds in the city. They beat me, they wounded me, they took my cloak away from me: those guardians of the ramparts!

8. I charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, if you should find my love, what are you to tell him? -That I am sick with love!

9. CHORUS: What makes your lover better than other lovers, O loveliest of women? What makes your lover better than other lovers, to put us under such an oath?

10. BELOVED: My love is fresh and ruddy, to be known among ten thousand.

11. His head is golden, purest gold, his locks are palm fronds and black as the raven.

12. His eyes are like doves beside the water-courses, bathing themselves in milk, perching on a fountain-rim.

13. His cheeks are beds of spices, banks sweetly scented. His lips are lilies, distilling pure myrrh.

14. His hands are golden, rounded, set with jewels of Tarshish. His belly a block of ivory covered with sapphires.

15. His legs are alabaster columns set in sockets of pure gold. His appearance is that of Lebanon, unrivalled as the cedars.

16. His conversation is sweetness itself, he is altogether lovable. Such is my love, such is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.



Livros sugeridos


“A sua função é tirar e transportar as pedras, e arrancar os espinhos. Jesus é quem semeia, planta, cultiva e rega. Mas seu trabalho também é obra de Jesus. Sem Ele você nada pode fazer.” São Padre Pio de Pietrelcina

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