5 I rose up to open to my beloved; and my hands dripped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.
6 I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone: my soul failed when he spoke: I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.
7 The watchmen that went about the city found me, they struck me, they wounded me; the keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.
8 I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my beloved, that you tell him, that I am sick with love.
9 What is your beloved more than another beloved, O you fairest among women? what is your beloved more than another beloved, that you so charge us?
10 My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.
11 His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are wavy, and black as a raven.