Song of Songs 5:1-9

I have entered my garden, my sister, my bride. I have gathered my myrrh with my spice. I have eaten my honeycomb and my honey. I have drunk my wine and my milk. Eat, friends, and drink; yes, drink deeply, lovers. I sleep, but my heart is awake. I hear my lover knocking. “Open to me, my sister, my darling, my dove, my perfect one. My head is wet with dew, and my hair with the dampness of the night.” I have taken off my garment and don’t want to put it on again. I have washed my feet and don’t want to get them dirty again. My lover put his hand through the opening, and I felt excited inside. I got up to open the door for my lover. Myrrh was dripping from my hands and flowing from my fingers, onto the handles of the lock. I opened the door for my lover, but my lover had left and was gone. When he spoke, he took my breath away. I looked for him, but I could not find him; I called for him, but he did not answer. The watchmen found me as they patrolled the city. They hit me and hurt me; the guards on the wall took away my veil. Promise me, women of Jerusalem, if you find my lover, tell him I am weak with love. How is your lover better than other lovers, most beautiful of women? How is your lover better than other lovers? Why do you want us to promise this?