I sleep, but my heart waketh:
it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying,
Open to me,... my love, my dove, my undefiled:
My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door,
and my bowels were moved for him.
I rose up to open to my beloved;
and my hands dropped with myrrh,
and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh,
upon the handles of the lock.
I opened to my beloved;
but my beloved had withdrawn himself,
and was gone:
my soul failed when he spake:
I sought him, but I could not find him;
I called him, but he gave me no answer.
The watchmen that went about the city found me,
they smote me, they wounded me;
the keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.
I charge you,
O daughters of Jerusalem,
if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him, that I am sick of love.
Song of Solomon 5:2,4-7