I have taken off my robe. Indeed, must I put it on?
I have washed my feet. Indeed, must I soil them?
I have taken off my robe. Indeed, must I put it on?
I have washed my feet. Indeed, must I soil them?
Song of Solomon 5:1–6
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.
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?
My beloved thrust his hand in through the latch opening.
My heart pounded for him.
I rose up to open for my beloved.
My hands dripped with myrrh,
my fingers with liquid myrrh,
on the handles of the lock.
I opened to my beloved;
but my beloved left, and had gone away.
My heart went out when he spoke.
I looked for him, but I didn’t find him.
I called him, but he didn’t answer.
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