Poetica Erotica

The Time of the Roses

SONG OF SOLOMON: II. ARRANGED BY J. G. FRAZER, 1895

I AM the rose of Sharon,

And the lily of the valleys.

As the lily among thorns,

So is my love among the daughters.

As the apple tree among the trees of the wood,

So is my beloved among the sons.

I sat down under his shadow with great delight,
And his fruit was sweet to my taste.

He brought me to the banqueting house,
And his banner over me was love.

Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples:
For I am sick of love.

His left hand is under my head,

And his right hand doth embrace me.

I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem,
By the roes and by the hinds of the field,

That ye stir not up, nor awake my love,
Till he please.

The voice of my beloved! behold he cometh

Leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills.

My beloved is like a roe or a young hart:
Behold, he standeth behind our wall,

He looketh forth at the windows,

Showing himself through the lattice.

My beloved spake, and said unto me,

Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past,

The rain is over and gone;

The flowers appear on the earth;

The time of the singing of birds is come,

And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;

The fig tree putteth forth her green figs,

And the vines with the tender grape give a good smell,

Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs,

Let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice;
For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.
Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines:
For our vines have tender grapes.

My beloved is mine, and I am his:

He feedeth among the lilies.

Until the day break, and the shadows flee away,

Turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart Upon the mountains of Bether.

Love's Garden

SONG OF SOLOMON: IV

BEHOLD, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair;
Thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks:

Thy hair is as a flock of goats,

That appear

from mount Gilead.

Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn,
Which came up from the washing;

Whereof every one beareth twins,
And none is barren among them.

Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet,
And thy speech is comely:

Thy temples are like a piece of pomegranate

Within thy locks.

Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armory, Whereon there hang a thousand bucklers,

All shields of mighty men.

Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins,

Which feed among the lilies.

Until the day break, and the shadows flee away,

I will get me to the mountain of myrrh,

And to the hill of frankincense.

Thou art all fair, my love;

There is no spot in thee.

Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse,

With me from Lebanon:

Look from the top of Amana,

From the top of Shenir and Hermon,

From the lions' dens,

From the mountains of the leopards.

Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse;

Thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes,

With one chain of thy neck.

How fair is thy love, my sister, my spouse!

How much better is thy love than wine!

And the smell of thine ointments than all spices!

Thy lips, O my spouse, drop as the honeycomb:

Honey and milk are under thy tongue;

And the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.

A garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse;

A spring shut up, a fountain sealed.

Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant

fruits:

Camphire, with spikenard,
Spikenard and saffron;

Calamus and cinnamon, with all trees of frankincense;
Myrrh and aloes, with all the chief spices:

A fountain of gardens,

A well of living waters,

And streams from Lebanon.

Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south:

Blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out.
Let my beloved come into his garden,
And eat his pleasant fruits.

A Lover's Quest

SONG OF SOLOMON: V

I AM come into my garden, my sister, my spouse;

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, O friends;

Drink, yea, drink abundantly, O beloved.

I sleep, but my heart waketh:

It is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying,
Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled:
For my head is filled with dew,

And my locks with the drops of the night.

I have put off my coat; how shall I put it on?

I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?

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.

What is thy beloved more than another beloved,

O thou fairest among women?

What is thy beloved more than another beloved,
That thou dost so charge us?

My beloved is white and ruddy,
The chiefest among ten thousand.