Song of Songs 1:6
Fear me not, because I `am' very dark, Because the sun hath scorched me, The sons of my mother were angry with me, They made me keeper of the vineyards, My vineyard -- my own -- I have not kept.
Fear me not, because I `am' very dark, Because the sun hath scorched me, The sons of my mother were angry with me, They made me keeper of the vineyards, My vineyard -- my own -- I have not kept.
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4 Draw me: after thee we run, The king hath brought me into his inner chambers, We do joy and rejoice in thee, We mention thy loves more than wine, Uprightly they have loved thee!
5 Dark `am' I, and comely, daughters of Jerusalem, As tents of Kedar, as curtains of Solomon.
7 Declare to me, thou whom my soul hath loved, Where thou delightest, Where thou liest down at noon, For why am I as one veiled, By the ranks of thy companions?
8 If thou knowest not, O fair among women, Get thee forth by the traces of the flock, And feed thy kids by the shepherds' dwellings!
9 To my joyous one in chariots of Pharaoh, I have compared thee, my friend,
30 My skin hath been black upon me, And my bone hath burned from heat,
31 And my harp doth become mourning, And my organ the sound of weeping.
7 Purer were her Nazarites than snow, Whiter than milk, ruddier of body than rubies, Of sapphire their form.
8 Darker than blackness hath been their visage, They have not been known in out-places, Cleaved hath their skin unto their bone, It hath withered -- it hath been as wood.
5 Turn round thine eyes from before me, Because they have made me proud. Thy hair `is' as a row of the goats, That have shone from Gilead,
10 Our skin as an oven hath been burning, Because of the raging of the famine.
6 I opened to my beloved, But my beloved withdrew -- he passed on, My soul went forth when he spake, I sought him, and found him not. I called him, and he answered me not.
7 The watchmen who go round about the city, Found me, smote me, wounded me, Keepers of the walls lifted up my veil from off me.
8 I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, If ye find my beloved -- What do ye tell him? that I `am' sick with love!
9 What `is' thy beloved above `any' beloved, O fair among women? What `is' thy beloved above `any' beloved, That thus thou hast adjured us?
10 My beloved `is' clear and ruddy, Conspicuous above a myriad!
11 His head `is' pure gold -- fine gold, His locks flowing, dark as a raven,
1 Let me sing, I pray you, for my beloved, A song of my beloved as to his vineyard: My beloved hath a vineyard in a fruitful hill,
21 For a breach of the daughter of my people have I been broken, I have been black, astonishment hath seized me.
10 `Who `is' this that is looking forth as morning, Fair as the moon -- clear as the sun, Awe-inspiring as bannered hosts?'
11 Unto a garden of nuts I went down, To look on the buds of the valley, To see whither the vine had flourished, The pomegranates had blossomed --
12 I knew not my soul, It made me -- chariots of my people Nadib.
16 That are black because of ice, By them doth snow hide itself.
1 Whither hath thy beloved gone, O fair among women? Whither hath thy beloved turned, And we seek him with thee?
6 Till the day doth break forth, And the shadows have fled away, I will get me unto the mountain of myrrh, And unto the hill of frankincense.
12 We lodge in the villages, we go early to the vineyards, We see if the vine hath flourished, The sweet smelling-flower hath opened. The pomegranates have blossomed, There do I give to thee my loves;
14 A cluster of cypress `is' my beloved to me, In the vineyards of En-Gedi!
15 Lo, thou `art' fair, my friend, Lo, thou `art' fair, thine eyes `are' doves!
1 Who doth make thee as a brother to me, Sucking the breasts of my mother? I find thee without, I kiss thee, Yea, they do not despise me,
16 My face is foul with weeping, And on mine eyelids `is' death-shade.
10 I `am' my beloved's, and on me `is' his desire.
7 It hath made my vine become a desolation, And my fig-tree become a chip, It hath made it thoroughly bare, and hath cast down, Made white have been its branches.
3 I have put off my coat, how do I put it on? I have washed my feet, how do I defile them?
3 The watchmen have found me, (Who are going round about the city), `Him whom my soul have loved saw ye?'
4 But a little I passed on from them, Till I found him whom my soul hath loved! I seized him, and let him not go, Till I brought him in unto the house of my mother -- And the chamber of her that conceived me.
12 My vineyard -- my own -- is before me, The thousand `is' for thee, O Solomon. And the two hundred for those keeping its fruit. O dweller in gardens!
13 The companions are attending to thy voice, Cause me to hear. Flee, my beloved, and be like to a roe,
7 And dim from sorrow is mine eye, And my members as a shadow all of them.
4 What -- to do still to my vineyard, That I have not done in it! Wherefore, I waited to the yielding of grapes, And it yieldeth bad ones!
1 My wo `is' to me, for I have been As gatherings of summer-fruit, As gleanings of harvest, There is no cluster to eat, The first-ripe fruit desired hath my soul.
12 `Is it' nothing to you, all ye passing by the way? Look attentively, and see, If there is any pain like my pain, That He is rolling to me? Whom Jehovah hath afflicted In the day of the fierceness of His anger.
7 Old from provocation is mine eye, It is old because of all mine adversaries,
2 `Wherefore `is' thy clothing red? And thy garments as treading in a wine fat?'
3 As a citron among trees of the forest, So `is' my beloved among the sons, In his shade I delighted, and sat down, And his fruit `is' sweet to my palate.
8 Mine inheritance hath been to Me as a lion in a forest, She gave forth against Me with her voice, Therefore I have hated her.
10 I `am' a wall, and my breasts as towers, Then I have been in his eyes as one finding peace.
8 A stranger I have been to my brother, And a foreigner to sons of my mother.
1 I have come in to my garden, my sister-spouse, I have plucked my myrrh with my spice, I have eaten my comb with my honey, I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, O friends, drink, Yea, drink abundantly, O beloved ones!
12 For an enemy reproacheth me not, or I bear `it', He who is hating me Hath not magnified himself against me, Or I hide from him.
5 Who `is' this coming from the wilderness, Hasting herself for her beloved? Under the citron-tree I have waked thee, There did thy mother pledge thee, There she gave a pledge `that' bare thee.