SONG OF SOLOMON CHAPTER 1 - 8

SONG OF SOLOMON

The reader lies in quandary who finds
The flashing syllables this story binds.
Whether the strong caress of Solomon
Or written after exiles had begun,
The words lift up the heart to You, Beloved,
A temple from which all idols are shoved,
A place where You may rest to hear Your name

Recited in the passions and the flame
Of love to You and to the one You sent
To dwell in desert and in nomad tent,
Revealing all the treasures You have spent
Upon the human heart. I lift my song
To join with Solomon’s, who knows no wrong,
But enters in the inner chamber long.

SONG OF SOLOMON 1

1 The song of songs, and which is this
That Solomon sang in his bliss.

I too, Beloved, like Solomon lift song
To You, though indeed I may sing it wrong,
Less tunefully than he, less truthfully.
Though I am also lover, I make free
To doubt as well as love, and like a lover,
To pout as well as shove where lightened hover.
I seek enlightenment not in my prayer
Nor in my raising eyes to heavenly air.
I seek not such at all. I kiss the clod
Instead and learn naught from the staff and rod.
Unknowing and unseeing I seek only
To hear a word in silence for the lonely,
Or else to call You by Your name while whirling
Across the polished floor, Your name of sterling.

2 Let him kiss me with kisses of
His mouth, because, because your love
Is better than your wine. 3 Because
Fragrances of your ointments cause
A fine scent, your name’s ointment poured
Forth makes the virgins love you. 4 Toward
Yourself draw me away!

Away! We shall run after you, away!

Your fragrance, my Beloved, is there to sow
The morning with radish and meadowsweet.
Sweet cicely promises a rare treat
Behind the empty breezes where You go.
My blue-green iridescent wings flash by
The sun glints as I seek Your path and cry
Like precious beetles drawn to alder leaves
Your fragrance, my Beloved, is everywhere
The morning minutes mount up in brief prayer
With wild vines that creep up against the eaves.
Draw me away, Beloved, for there You are,
Behind sun or some invisible star.
Draw me away, or else let me stay here
Crouched somewhere waiting beside Your left ear.

The king has brought me limp and willing
Into his chambers, joys fulfilling.

The rock-hewn chamber of my soul is lit
By seven-branched candle stick, and it is fit
With furnishings of gold, a table where
Delicious smelling loaves entrance the air,
And golden censor wafts the smoked perfume
Before the draperies dividing room
From room. And all about is scarlet, blue
And purple to hide angels, gold, and You.
Within the inner chamber of my heart
The golden chest bears manna, budding rod
And words writ rare. The tables of blue stone
Beneath the mercy seat no human art
Has struck, Beloved, but only hand of God.
I enter here with You struck to the bone.

We will be glad, rejoice in you,
Remembering more than wine the dew
That scattered your love’s billet-doux.

Beloved, all turn to You remembering
More than the wine they drink–the tempering
Of loss and striving–Your love permeating
All life and breath and thought and thus creating
The medium of all seeking. I think I
Desire the this and that, the reach of sky,
The tinsel and the train, then stop to know
In lightning flash that all the come and go
Is just reflection of my frantic rush
To Youward. I abandon public crush
To step the bridge of art and find the goal
Within my self–also abandoned soul–
The Self of You, remembered more than wine.
Rejoicing I return to You to dine.

Rightly do they love you, rightly.
5 Dark I may be, but I’m lovely,
O daughters of Jerusalem,
Like the tents of Kedar, a gem,
Like the curtains of Solomon.
6 Oh, do not, do not look upon
Me, because I am dark, because
The sun has tanned me without pause.
My mother’s sons, angry with me,
They made me keeper of lovely
Vineyards, but my own vineyard lies
Unkept, unkempt before my eyes.

When Israel wept for Tammuz and the sun
Had turned the Christian’s faith to power and gun,
When Ahmad’s cry was left unheard by all
Who deemed they were obedient to his call,
Then You, Beloved, returned to Axum where
The faith was always kept as something rare
Since days of son of Solomon. The tents
Of Kedar seen across the gulf’s defense
Welcomed the dark-skinned love that hid from view
Of curious eye the inner ark’s gold hue.
Daughters of Athens, Mecca, Quds and Rome
Alike gather beneath the shining dome,
While I seek You, Beloved, in desert tent,
Unlovely and unloved where’re You went.

7 Tell me, O you whom I love, where
You feed your flock, and where you care
To make it rest at noon. For why
Should I be as one who’s veiled by
The flocks of your companions, why?

Beloved, I truly ask of You the place
Where there are gathered those before Your face
Who worship You in truth and innocence.
I find fair doctrines in the church and tents
Of Jew and Christian, in the mosque and crowd
Wherever Your name is proclaimed aloud.
But when their actions bare the heart to see
What stains break out in violence and free
Oppression of the other, faint for grief.
Beloved, I can do nothing against thief
And murderer, the violent and gross,
The wicked ones in silence, the verbose.
But I open both hand and heart to You
To cleanse what I desire and what I do.

8 If you do not know, O fairest
Among women, follow the rest
In the tracks of the flock, and feed
Your little goats when they have need
Beside the shepherds’ tents. 9 I do
Compare you, my love, my love, to
My filly among Pharaoh’s cars.
10 Your cheeks are lovely with the stars
Of ornaments, and Your neck’s shining
With chains of gold and jewels combining.

Beloved, though Axum’s sun has burnt my skin,
You see me fair and beautiful within.
Though my hair and my sleeves retain the wisp
Of leaf and cobweb from the terraced crisp
And draw of vineyard where I spend my days
In labour, You ignore the rents and frays,
And see my burnt cheeks lovely as in jewels,
My neck glistening with chains that kings and fools
Covet for their rare value weighed in gold.
Beloved, You see me like the lamb in fold,
The filly frisking in the morning cold
With frost, the little goats jumping and bold.
I follow all the tender tracks I find
And find You there when I arrive, though blind.

11 We shall make ornaments for you
Of gold, with studs of silver too.

12 While the king’s at his table, My
Spikenard sends forth its fragrant cry.
13 A bundle of myrrh’s my beloved
All night between my breasts ungloved.
14 And my beloved’s to me a cluster
Of henna in the vineyards’ luster
Of En Gedi by sea and sky.

I spent a night, a lovely night in winter
At the kibbutz at En Gedi. The squinter
Gazing at sea or orange cliffs fails not
To smell the clustered flowers in their plot.
The soft night still caresses memory’s breast.
Beloved, You silently breathe east and west
Into sweet being as in motions caught
In love I turn the whirling step You taught.
The breakfast table of a king was set,
While kings and visitors came there to get
Their bread and porridge for the new-taught day.
And then I rose and took my traveller’s way
Toward Jerusalem, first north, then west.
The soft night still caresses memories best.

15 Behold, you’re fair, my love! Behold,
You are fair! You have eyes as bold
As dove’s eyes made of liquid gold.

I’ve seen the dove’s eye, quick and pertinent,
Choose seed before the blow of storm cloud sent
The birds a-scurry from the gravelled road,
Craws awkward and bulged with the seedy load.
I’ve seen dove’s eye not curious but bright
Surprising me beneath a window light.
I’ve seen dove’s eye upon the rare occasion,
And having seen, I am of the persuasion
There’s many eye more fair. I know the black
In Arab desert sight’s more fine than track
Of blue and brown and gold or shades of green.
The favourite of all eyes is the black sheen.
But no eye, my Beloved, nor black nor fair
Can find Your sight for looking anywhere.

16 Behold, you are handsome, beloved!
Yes, pleasant! Also our bed’s green.
17 The beams of our houses are shoved
In cedar, rafters of fir sheen.

SONG OF SOLOMON 2

1 I am the rose of Sharon, and
The lily of the valley land.

I, whose eye is not able to see You,
Who am the rose of Sharon in the dew
And just a tiny lily in Your view,
And live in Your house on a bed that’s green,
Beneath a cedar beam and argentine,
Look up to see Your face, but see the rafters
Of fir block sight from heaven, and You, and laughters.
If Your face could be seen by mine and here,
Know that, Beloved, to me it would appear
More handsome than the face of all creation
That now informs my joys and my elation.
I look upon the handsome brow of sky,
And bow to You, I hear the forest cry,
Repeat Your name with breath and song and sigh.

2 Like a lily among the thorns,
So’s my love in the daughters’ bournes.

That drop of I-ness that You lent to me
That You might be found as a treasure, free,
Is like a lily also hid in thorns.
The scintillating selves that make the bournes
Of my veiled travels through these crowded days
Tempt me to emulate their templed ways.
The thorn from where I crouch seems like a lily,
And that lily I am sometimes seems silly.
Thanks, my Beloved, for reassurance here
That lily’s what I am and what appear
To You, who see reality in me.
Your word’s enough, I do not need to see.
I’m satisfied to be, Beloved, alone
In Your sight lily. Others may see stone.

3 Like apple tree among the trees
Of all the woods, so among these
Is my beloved, among the sons.
I sat down in his shade with tons
Of great delight and without waste,
And his fruit was sweet to my taste.

Beloved, the apple on the tree was once
Forbidden in the park, and now like dunce
I seem to think the prohibition’s care
Was meant to tempt and slay me everywhere.
But not the case! Your Paradise is free,
Now open and the flaming sword calls me
To pluck and eat the magic fruit and tree.
But what reverse! Forbidden fruit was sight
The first pair saw before them day and night.
Now I run through the park of pine and birch
By thousands and they all retard my search.
At last I turn from temple arch and beam
To find the apple tree beside a stream.
Sweet tree, Beloved, at last I know Your theme.

4 He brought me to the banquet hall,
His banner on me was love’s call.
5 Sustain me with cakes of dried grapes,
Refresh with apples, in love’s shapes
I’m ill. 6 His left hand’s under my
Head, his right holds me the by.
7 I charge you by the fleet gazelles,
O daughters of Jerusalem,
By the gazelles or doe that dwells
Among the fields, do not stir stem
Nor waken love until it swells.

I sit in banquet whether I have meat
Or bread, or only herbs. I tuck my feet
On bare earth or on silk and marble chair,
I sit in banquet now and everywhere.
It is alike if gold and silver spoon
Grace table and my plate, I’d just as soon
Eat with bare hand, Beloved, since I’m with you.
I sit in banqueting no matter what I do,
No matter where I go. Your grand repast
Is decorated with the sun and stars,
And with the silent silver moon at last,
Is banquet in free air or behind bars.
I waken to Your feast of love and still
Give You, Beloved, what’s left of human will.

8 The voice of my beloved! Behold,
He comes leaping and leaping bold
Upon the mountains, skipping on
The hills. 9 My loved is like gazelle
Or a young stag. Behold, look well,
He stands behind our wall, He looks
Through window and the lattice crooks.
10 Then my beloved spoke, said to me
“Rise up, my love, my fair and free,
And come away. 11 For lo, the frost
Of winter’s past, the rain is lost,
Over and gone. 12 The flowers appear
On earth, the time of singing’s near,
And the voice of the turtledove
Is heard in our land, O my love.
13 The fig tree puts forth her green figs,
And the vine with tender grapes digs
A good smell from the earth. Rise up,
My love, my fair, away to sup!

O my Beloved, I hear Your voice, or think
I do, when stepping on a glade or brink
Of stream, and then I stop to hear again,
Wait longer than the silence of most men,
And sigh, for that sweet breath ephemeral
Is just a glimpse and not a proof, a call
And disappearing in the trees of stag
That leaves the heart quite overcome by crag
And wilderness and lake. The fig tree sends
Its figs on white and dripping stems and bends
Beneath the vine whose tender grapes appear,
Sweet scented, reveling that You are near.
You leap, Beloved, and jump and skip about,
Leave everywhere You go a love and doubt.

14 “O my dove, in the clefts of rock,
In secrets of the cliff, take stock
Of your face, let me hear your voice,
Your voice is sweet, and your face choice.”

You live forever seeing as You wish
My face, while I, enraptured in Your dish
And cup, see only sky when I look up.
Ah me, and vain complaint, with well-filled cup
I look into Your face, both blue and gray,
The star-graced night and the resplendent day,
The ponderous of lightning and the rush
Or heavy stillness on the mist. I hush
In awe complaint, and see again Your face,
And know my failure was that every place
Reflects Your glories so there is no edge
To guide my vision with its bound and hedge.
Why cry for lesser vision than the one
You are, Beloved, in everything that’s done?

15 Catch us the foxes that spoil vines,
The little foxes in the lines,
Our vines have tender grapes and tines.

Beloved, I love the exultation I
Feel from moment to moment in the sky
Where I find Your face in reflection and
In all the coloured forests of the land.
But catch for me the foxes that distract
My loving thoughts, I catch them in the act,
And still they slip away. Beloved, I may
Serve You the better if You take away
The foxes, little foxes that surprise
Me with their irritating yaps and eyes.
I could live in Your constant raptures if
You’d take away the foxes from my skiff.
I’d sail a sea of glass to heavenly shore
If only yapping foxes were no more.

16 My beloved’s mine, and I am his.
He feeds his flock among lilies.

17 Until day breaks, and flee away
The shadows, turn, beloved, and stay
Like a gazelle or young stag on
The mountains of Bether at dawn.

The long night fills my fevered brain with visions,
Disjointed, running, clambering provisions
Across the mountains and ravines till dawn:
Turn, my Beloved, and stay, day’s coming on.
Upon the mountains You alone appear
To feed Your flocks, and You in shepherd’s gear
Sit down with me, You knowing not a letter,
And take out loaf and break the flattened bread
And cut the cold meat in small slivers better
Than marbled banquets, with both hands together
You place each morsel at my lips. Like leather
Are those two work-worn hands. With each piece fed,
You speak and say “Efendim” as tears start
Again and once again to hear Your part.

SONG OF SOLOMON 3

1 By night on my bed I sought him,
The one I love, there I sought him,
But seeking I did not find him.
2 “I shall rise now,” I said, “And go
About the city in night’s glow,
In the streets and in every square
I’ll seek him I love everywhere.”
I sought, did not find anywhere.
3 The watchmen in the city found me,
I said, “Have you seen him I love?”
4 Scarce had I passed and looked around me,
When I found the one that I love.
I held him, would not let him go,
Until I’d brought him to the room
Of my mother, into the gloom
Where she conceived me. 5 I charge you,
O daughters of Jerusalem,
By the gazelles or by the ewe
Does of the field, do not stir stem
Nor waken love until I do.

I seek you throughout rain-soaked alley ways
In glistening lantern light, and in broad days
And crowded boulevards. I search averted
Faces, furtive as well as mass deserted,
Empty of all things but the frantic search
For pleasure. I seek You, Beloved, through birch
And pine, along the docks, in park and square,
I search the myriad faces everywhere,
And in my blindness see only the care,
The longing and the laughter in them there.
And still I seek You, my Beloved, until
Exhausted I collapse body and will.
Then of a sudden where the least expected,
I find You with the homeless and rejected.

6 Who is this coming like the smoke
Out of the wilderness and broke
Like pillars of smoke, perfumed tents
With fragrant myrrh and frankincense,
With all the merchant’s fragrant powder?
7 Behold, it’s Solomon’s couch, louder
With sixty valiant men around it,
Of Israel’s valiant ones to sound it.
8 They all hold swords, expert in war.
Each man has his sword on before
Because of fearing in the night,
And watching for a glimpse of light.
9 Of the wood of Lebanon made
King Solomon himself a shade
Of palanquin: 10 He made its pillars
Of silver, its support instillers
Of gold, its seat of purple gem,
Interior paved with love by
The daughters of Jerusalem.
11 Go forth, O Zion’s daughters, cry,
And see King Solomon in crown,
His mother crowned him with renown
On his wedding day for her part,
The day of gladness in his heart.

Beloved, pavilions of the air and sky
Covering Your parade and passing by
With royal banners, carriages of wind
Through fir and pine and birch once twinned and twinned,
Delight my heart and eye to find You there.
The smoking mountain and the mists of air
Hide and reveal the passing of Your glory.
The earth beneath Your feet, storey on storey,
Is paved in goldenrod and wheat, a pale
And glowing setting for the tribe and tale
Of jewels in Your crown, the crimson throat
Of humming-bird, carnelian eye of goat,
And iridescent grackle’s wing, all told
In priceless gem, fresh-sprung and newly old.

SONG OF SOLOMON 4

1 Behold, you’re fair, my love! Behold,
You are fair! You’ve dove’s eyes behind
Your veil. Your hair’s like flocks of bold
Goats, down from Gilead inclined.
2 Your teeth are like a flock of shorn
Come up from washing without thorn,
With twins each one bearing along,
None of them barren, but all strong.
3 Your lips are like a thread of scarlet,
And your mouth lovely as a starlet.
Your temples behind your veil are
Like a piece of pomegranate bar.
4 Your neck is like David’s tower built
For armoury, on which hang quilt
A thousand bucklers, and the shields
Of mighty men known in the fields.
5 Your two breasts are like two young fawns,
Twins of a ewe gazelle, on lawns
Among the lilies feeding. 6 Till
The day breaks and the shadows flee
Away, I’ll go my way to hill
Of myrrh and to the mountain free
Of frankincense. 7 You are all fair,
My love, without spot anywhere.

The pomegranates and the lilies are
No veil, Beloved, I have no fear of star
Like Babylon, nor of the passing flesh
Like Athens, I know well bodies enmesh
With souls, nor do I seek the divine spark
Hidden among the trees about the park
Bound and solemn where its fruit is still fresh.
I know the myrrh and mountain are as real
As any soul and spirit in the deal.
No, no, the veils are not of flesh and steel.
The veil hides eye and neck, not empty spirit.
There’s no veil but the human will, or near it,
And when it’s rent, it’s not my sight but Yours,
Beloved, that sees my face through open doors.

8 From Lebanon, come with me, spouse,
With me from Lebanon, my grouse.
Look from the top of Amana,
From Senir and Hermon, the maw
Of lions’ dens, from the leopards’ hills.
9 Your ravishing how my heart thrills,
My sister, spouse, you’ve ravished my
Heart with one look out of your eye,
With one link of your necklace. 10 How
Fair is your love, my sister, spouse!
How much better than wine your house
Of love, and the scents that endow
Your perfumes better than all spices!
11 Your lips, O spouse, drip as entices
The honeycomb, honey and milk
Are under your tongue, and the silk
Of your garments is like the scent
That Lebanon in fragrance lent.
12 An enclosed garden is my spouse,
And sister, a spring by the house
Shut up, and like a fountain sealed.
13 Your plants are an orchard revealed
Of pomegranates, pleasant fruit,
Fragrant henna with spikenard root,
14 Spikenard and saffron, calamus
And cinnamon, with all trees thus
Of frankincense, myrrh and aloes,
With all the spice a garden grows.

Illusion is the human has a duty
Beyond being for You, Beloved, a beauty.
Illusion is You are a treasure to
Be found beyond creation, rather You
Created men and women not to love,
If so, they should have loved, but rather of
Your own desire to love. Untouchable
With passion in philosophy, but full
Of all passion in Your reality,
You have made cinnamon and myrrh not that
They might enjoy their odours where they sat,
But that You might Yourself, Beloved, enjoy
Their scent. From both labour and love set free,
I am content, Beloved, to be Your toy.

15 A fountain of the gardens, well
Of running waters, streams that fell
From Lebanon where they arose.

No longer mystic who thirsts for Your being,
Imagining the veils that crowd my seeing,
I seek no pools refreshing to my heart,
No living waters, no ablutions’ start,
No rivers of wine nor chalices of
The heavenly nectar and the heavenly love.
Instead I lie and sparkle under sun,
I who have neither sports nor battles won,
Rush or flow with the current of Your hill,
Who have no mite left of desire or will.
I thirst not, do not pant, but am the dew
Itself that You, Beloved, drink for sweet brew.
You are the thirsty stag, and I the stream,
Drink me, Beloved, and be refreshed with dream.

16 Awake, O north, and come, south wind!
Blow on my garden, that its hind
Of spices may flow out. Let my
Beloved come to his garden, try
And eat its pleasant fruits the by.

Beloved, I am a garden of Your planting,
Garden of blowing spice and fruit-trees granting
The tastes and odours You best would desire,
Made of mere light and shadows on Your fire.
Let Your divine breath blow on my retreat,
And gather to You all my scents and sweet,
The scents of sacrifice and scents of prayers
That are the sum that my respiring bears.
Blow, blow Your winds on me, let branches free
And tossing in the air, break, fall on me,
And set free the scents of their resined wood.
Let my fruit ripen, and as ripened should,
Split for Your pleasure on the blackened ground.
I am, Beloved, the treasure You have found.

SONG OF SOLOMON 5

1 I have come to my garden, spouse
And sister, gathered in my house
My myrrh and spice, I’ve eaten my
Honey and honeycomb, and I
Have drunk my grape juice with my milk,
In scent of spice and sound of silk.

O friends! Eat, drink, yes, deeply drink,
Beloved ones, at the marble brink!

My slaughter, my Beloved, be sweet to You,
But let me not feel anything You do,
Not pain of knife nor thrust of ecstasy,
Let all pleasure be Yours alone, let me
Be like the shining stone, a ruby fed
To You and all Your angels at the bed
Where I am dressed with spices, braised in milk
And boiled wine and honeycomb smooth as silk
To Your tongue, my Beloved, so let me live
In that pleasure that flesh and spirit give
To those whose food I am created for.
Drink deeply, yes, Beloved, and drink me more,
So I become in You eternal, true,
Keeping in Your expanse even curfew.

2 I sleep, but my heart’s waking still,
The voice of my beloved! I thrill!
He knocks, and says, “Open for me,
My sister, love, my dove, and my
Perfect one, for my head freely
Is covered with the dew, and my
Locks with the dewdrops of the night.”
3 I’ve taken off my robe, what right
Have I to put it on again?
I have washed my feet, and now then
Shall I defile them? 4 My beloved
Put his hand by the latch, and gloved,
And my heart yearned for him. 5 I rose
To open for my one beloved,
And my hands dripped with myrrh and rose,
My fingers dripping myrrh upon
The handles of the lock at dawn.
6 I opened for my one beloved,
But my beloved, spent and ungloved,
Had turned away and he was gone.
My heart leaped up to hear him speak.
I sought him vainly where to seek,
I called him, but without reply.
7 The city watchmen who went by
Found me. They struck me with a cry,
They wounded me, the keepers on
The walls took my veil from me, shone
Their lamps on me. 8 So I charge you,
O daughters of Jerusalem,
If you find my beloved, my gem,
You tell him I’m lovesick, pray do!

The watchmen on Your city walls find me
And strike me with their staves to set me free
From the veils that encumber mind and eye.
I quiver in shame before their firefly
Revealing all the secrets of my face,
The throbbing temple, laid bare in disgrace
Convulsing throat and trembling lip, revealing
The care I had to hide myself and feeling.
The reason I do not find You when seeking
Is merely that my rush, for all its shrieking,
Although I think I seek You, in truth I
Am fleeing from Your waters and Your cry.
I fear to lose my veils, but now they’re gone,
Meet me, Beloved, and take me in the dawn.

9 What’s your beloved more than another
Beloved, O fairest? Any brother
Of women, say, what more is your
Beloved, that you so charge us for?

They chide me to be irresponsible
Finding You in each eye, and finding full
Divine and without parts and without bounds
In every human face and voice that sounds.
Beloved, is there breath that You do not breathe?
To say so lets idolatry unsheathe.
Since You proclaim that You are One let there
Be no competitor, not anywhere.
Humility inflames the heart to be
None other than the one of deity.
Let me not find nor make an idol here
Where only You, Beloved, come to appear.
You are unique in every errant knight
That stumbles in his armour at the fight.

10 My loved is fair and ruddy, chief
Among ten thousand, 11 and like leaf
Of finest gold’s his head, his locks
Are wavy, raven black. 12 His eyes
Are like doves by the river docks
Of waters, washed with milk in wise,
And fitly set. 13 His cheeks are like
A bed of spices, banks that strike
The air with scented herbs. His lips
Are lilies, dripping liquid myrrh.
14 His hands are rods of gold set with
Beryl. His body’s lovelier,
Carved ivory all inlaid with
Sapphires. 15 His legs are pillars, hips
Of marble set on bases of
Fine gold. His countenance of love
Is like the Lebanon, the fine
Cedars. 16 His mouth is sweet like wine,
Yes, he’s Mahammadim indeed.
And this is my beloved decreed,
This is my friend and diadem,
O daughters of Jerusalem!

Oh my Beloved! Give me a pen both white
And ruddy in the flaming, flaming light,
Above ten thousand, head of finest gold,
And wavy locks like jet, the rarest sold,
With eyes like doves and cheeks like bed of spices,
And golden beryl hands above all prices,
And lily lips, beneath, carved ivory
Inlaid with sapphires, marble pillary
Set in their bases of the purest gold,
And excellent like cedars known of old,
With mouth most sweet reciting angel songs,
Come down, Desired, to right all earthly wrongs.
Beloved, Your breath alone makes such a man,
Beloved and friend, as only Your word can.

SONG OF SOLOMON 6

1 Where has your one beloved one gone,
O fairest among women? On
What hand has your beloved one turned,
That we may seek with you unspurned?

I thank the rabble for the invitation
To form a blessèd dervish congregation.
Indeed the whirling in fair company
May multiply the blessings of the spree.
But here’s the rub, and it is always so,
The rabble will ask in which way to go
Instead of looking straight to You to guide,
Or else, not even asking, turn aside.
The two alternatives, idolatry
Or going off the path to look for Me,
Are not mine to pursue, and so I go
On as a lone dervish, though I am slow,
And pray the blessing that You give to me
May be theirs too and more abundantly.

2 My one beloved has gone alone
To his garden, to beds of spices,
To feed in the gardens and blown,
And gather lilies’ paradises.
3 I’m my beloved’s, and he is mine.
He feeds among the lilies fine.

You only, my Beloved, take Sabbath rest,
For You alone create the east and west.
You come to me in gardens in the cool
Of evening, lie down by the sacred pool
And rest Your heart in me, who build Your room
Of Psalms sung in the language of sweet doom.
You take Your Sabbath banquet at my hand,
Beloved of spice and lilies contraband.
You eat and drink with me since You are mine,
And I am Yours in lily Sabbath shrine.
You only, my Beloved, work and take rest,
Though You are never tired to do the best,
While I, who neither work nor rest nor am,
Enjoy the vision of Your song and lamb.

4 O my love, you are beautiful
As Tirzah, lovely as the pull
Jerusalem has on my heart,
Awesome as banners in war’s art!
5 Now turn your eyes away from me,
For they’ve surely overcome me.
Your hair is like a flock of goats
Descending Gilead like lotes.
6 Your teeth are like a flock of sheep
Come up from the washing to keep
Each one its twins and none is barren.
7 A piece of pomegranate thereon
Is like your temples under veil.
8 With sixty queens to make the tale
And eighty concubines there are,
With virgins numbered like the star.
9 My dove, my perfect one, is only
Child born of her mother and lonely,
The favourite of her who bore her.
The daughters saw her to implore her,
And called her blessed, the queens also
And concubines praise her and know.
10 Who is she who looks forth as morning,
Fair as the moon, as sun’s adorning,
Awesome as army banners warning?

I blush to hear such speech from You, my Love.
What is this thing that You are talking of?
Must I turn eye away from You because
The vision is too much for You to pause
And feast upon? Creator of all things,
Beloved, scorn not Your servant’s tattered wings.
Call me not perfect, but reflection of
Your own creating power and tender love.
Am I too beautiful for Deity
To look upon and still be full and free?
Am I brighter than sun, Beloved, that You
Look and are blinded by my sparkling dew?
I blush again, Beloved and God, for cheer
That You hold me and me alone so dear.

11 I went down to the garden of
Nuts to see verdant valley’s love,
To see whether the vine had budded,
The pomegranates’ blooms had studded.
12 Before I was even aware,
My soul had made me become there
As chariots of my noble folk,
Before my love I even spoke.

I walk before the wind above the ground
To find the brown nuts by their tinkling sound
Above the verdure of the valley’s scent,
To find vines and pomegranates where I went.
My feet crush the cruel coals of crass desire,
And part the martyr’s path between the fire,
And all grows green and cool around my sole
Before I touch the meadow and my goal.
I do not know if I was struck by sword
Before I caught the vision of the Lord,
And rode in chariots of fire and cloud
To meet the seraphim chanting aloud.
Before I knew the veils had floated down
And I was given chariot and crown.

13 Return, return, O Shulamite,
Return, that we may have your sight!

They beg me to return into the dark,
Into the world of sale and city park.
They want to crush my flowers and bruise my heart,
But that is something that can never start.
They want a sight of one who’s tasted of
The manna and the honeycomb above,
And do not realize there’s no return
Because there is no windward in the burn.
I have not gone away, nor up nor down,
Nor to the west nor east, nor in the town,
The north and south are just as present as
The wheels and heels and flowers the jasmine has.
Return I cannot, since I’m not away,
And sight they cannot have until their day.

What would you see in Shulamite,
As if two camps had danced or might?

The whirling is no stepping in a trance,
It is no jostling in a crowded dance,
It is no herd, no herd of loving souls
That’s seen in two opposing football goals.
If they would see the Shulamite and You,
Beloved, in sacred dance about the yew,
They must stay long enough to crack the nut,
And spit out all the tough, hard grape seeds, but
Share all the waking fruit in forty parts.
They must skip like a little goat upon
The sacred Sinai in the rosy dawn,
And empty all the wine out of their hearts.
Beloved, I whirl and dance with You an hour
Without a muscle moving from Your power.

SONG OF SOLOMON 7

1 How beautiful your feet in shoes,
Sandals, O prince’s daughter, choose!
The curves of your thighs are like jewels,
The work of skilful hands and tools.
2 Your navel is a rounded cup
That lacks no blended wine to sup.
Your waist is like a heap of wheat
Set all about with lilies sweet.
3 Your two breasts are like two young fawns,
Twins of a ewe gazelle on lawns.
4 Your neck is like an ivory tower,
Your eyes like pools in Heshbon’s hour
Beside the gate of Bath Rabbim.
Your nose is like the tower to seem
Of Lebanon which looks down on
Damascus. 5 Your head is like dawn
On Carmel, and your hair is as
The purple that a captive has
In kings. 6 How fair and how pleasant
You are, O love, with your delights!
7 Your height’s like a palm, elegant,
Your breasts its clusters in its heights.
8 I said, “I’ll go up the palm tree,
I’ll take hold of its branches free.”
Now let your breasts be like the vine
With clusters, your breath scented fine
Like apples, 9 the roof of your mouth
Like the best grape juice from the south.

Beloved, I thank You that You place the table
Of that bright thunder and light You were able
Once to proclaim from Sinai, on my breast,
Condensing all Your glories east and west.
Instead of stone and glossy words You make
The tables of Your Decalogue now take
On flesh and blood in human heart as told
By every prophet and divine guide’s gold.
The sapphire stones have turned into two breasts
That stand like towers and pointed at the crests.
What You once tenderly spoke into being
On Sinai in the people’s hearing, seeing,
Are now the breasts You fondle in my care,
Exposed to Your eyes only and the air.

For my beloved that wine goes down
Smoothly, moving gently to drown
The lips of sleepers. 10 I am his,
And my beloved’s desire is
Toward me. 11 Come, my beloved, let’s go
Forth to the field, and let’s lodge so
Among the villages. 12 Let’s rise
Up early to the vineyards’ guise
To see if the vine is in bloom,
If the grape blossoms in costume
Teach pomegranates to be fair,
And I shall give you my love there.
13 The mandrakes give their scented spell,
And at our gates pleasant and well
All kinds of fruits, both new and old,
Which I, beloved, for you have told.

SONG OF SOLOMON 8

1 Oh, that you were to me like brother,
Who suckled at breasts of my mother!
If I should find you outside, I
Would kiss you, I would not thereby
Be aught despised. 2 I would lead you
And bring you to the house where you
Would find my mother, she who used
To teach me. There you’d be amused
With spiced grape juice to drink awhile,
My pomegranate juice to spoil.

3 His left hand is beneath my head,
And his right hand embraces me.
4 I charge you, do not stir my bed,
O daughters of Jerusalem,
Nor waken my love unto me
Until I have the diadem.

The sweet and fleshy breasts of mother were
The tables of the Decalogue made sure
And written on the tables of her heart,
From which she poured her teachings and her art.
She taught me with her milk to drink of You,
Beloved, and always seeking find the true.
I lead You, my Beloved and God, to find
My mother’s bed and share sweets of her mind.
There You shall take Your pleasure at my hand
Who am created but for Your command.
The daughters of Jerusalem shall give
Us peace and stillness where we both can live,
Beloved, until the clouds have gone and passed
And I awaken in Your heart at last.

5 Who’s coming from the wilderness,
Leaning on her beloved’s caress?
I wakened you beneath the tree,
The apple tree under which you
Were brought forth. There your mother brought
You forth, there she gave birth to you
And brought you forth there as she ought.

I walk with You, Beloved, and rise up from
The desert where the hidden rivers come
Beneath the sand to water all the way
The fig trees and the olives in their sway.
We meet with many relatives, a few
Of whom can give my witnesses to You,
That I was born beneath the apple tree
That nourished my mother and made her free.
The hands are living still that wakened me
To the sweet milk of Your theophany,
And made the mountain’s thunder lullaby
And lightning a lamp for my guiding by.
Till now my infant feet stumbled along
When I at last, Beloved, hear Your love song.

The wise and simple say the apple tree
That’s mentioned here by Solomon in glee
Is that with blossoms pink in west country
Joanna Southcote saw as a baby.
The pure in heart are oft derided here
Where steel trees mark the roadways of our fear,
And in derision men take stock and chain
Against the softer sex, and take in vain.
Beloved, keep every sweet child of Your ways
Beneath the apple blossoms of Your praise
No matter what the priest has left to say,
And what the rich consent to do today.
And I shall bring three gifts to that new son:
An apple blossem, pear, and cherry won.

6 Set me a seal upon your heart,
As a seal there upon your arm,
For love is strong as death and art,
Jealousy cruel as the harm
Of grave, its flames are flames of fire,
A most vehement flame. 7 Desire
Nor love are quenched by many floods
Of waters not to drown it’s buds.
If a man gave for love all that
His house contained in wealth and mat,
‘T would be despised and all bespat.

I do not ask for seal in head or hand
To grace me in a dragon’s harrow-land,
Nor do I ask for strength to meet the fall,
Nor ears to hear or not the siren’s call.
Let others be sealed and get great reward
In service wrought and fought for their dear Lord.
Instead I ask, that You, Beloved, be sealed,
Not on head nor in hand, but arm and heart.
Let me be on Your arm never to yield
Tattooed in divine flesh never to part.
Let me be on Your heart a seal and stay
And Your remembrance in both night and day.
I am unworthy to bear seals and rings,
Let You, Beloved, hold all the things of kings.

8 We have a little sister who
Has no breasts, now what shall we do
In the day when she’s spoken for?
9 If she’s a wall, we’ll build her more,
A battlement of silver store,
And if she is a gate or door,
With cedar boards we’ll close and shore.

Is there a city that has no support,
No wall, no tower, and still no sturdy fort?
For such the walls and towers may sure be built.
Is there a sister without breasts and gilt?
For such the promises are firm and sure.
The words, Beloved, You speak are true and pure,
And graven on sapphire stones to catch the eye.
Of these sapphires flesh breasts make by and by
That shall support a city and a wall.
Two tables of the law are Your love call,
And they are firm and sweet like honeycomb.
No need for wall and tower when there is home.
Beloved, Your battlements of cedar, gold
Shore up the gates and make a sure sheepfold.

10 I am a wall, my breasts like towers,
Then I became in his eyes flowers
As one who had found peace in showers.
11 Solomon had a vineyard at
Baal Hamon, leased where keepers sat,
And everyone came there to bring
For its fruit a thousand sterling.

12 My own vineyard is here before me.
You, Solomon, a thousand o’er me
Is yours for taking. Those who tend
Its fruit have two hundred to spend.

I am a wall indeed, Beloved, since I
Have breasts like living towers from Mount Sinai,
Whereon writ in flesh are Your words of love
Once spoke in lightning and thunder above
The bowed heads of the people. Those words sigh
And whisper in my heart at night, they fly
From lip to ear at the noon day and speak
Above clatter and din of those that seek
Gods rather wrought in silver and in gold,
In oil and shares, in speculations cold
And innocent. I am a wall indeed.
But send two hundred, my Beloved, to seed
The grapevines at my shoulder, thousands more
For Suleyman and David put in store.

13 You who live in the gardens near it,
Friends hear your voice, let me too hear it!

The mystic thrills to hear Your voice of doom,
Its loving syllables tiptoe and loom
About the table where the banquet’s spread,
And where the longing soul is quenched and fed.
But You, Beloved, have promised me no voice,
And no exulting station, and no choice
Of sweetmeats for my fare. Oh, no, instead
You jealously remark that others hear
My murmured cantillations for Your ear
Alone meant to be sung. Put me in mind
To sing for You alone, forget the wined
And suited throng, for You alone my song.
My garden wall be high against the wrong.
Let none but You, Beloved, be and belong.

14 Make haste, belovèd mine, and be
Like a gazelle or young stag free
On the mountains’ of spices lea.

AUTHOR: THOMAS G. MCELWAIN

Copyright © 2007 Adams & McElwain Publishers and Thomas McElwain First Published in two volumes, The Beloved and I 2005, and Led of the Beloved, 2006. Second Edition, 2010 Third and revised edition, 2012 All rights reserved. No part of this verse commentary on the sacred Scriptures may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from publisher.

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