She glides lightly between the vines. The dew falls from them, chilling her feet and spattering her elbows. And now a joyous cry from Sulamith fills the vineyard! The king is standing beyond the wall. With a radiant face he stretches out his arms to meet her.
More lightly than a bird Sulamith surmounts the enclosure, and, without words, with a moan of happiness, entwines the king.
Several minutes pass thus. Finally, tearing his lips away from her mouth, Solomon speaks, enraptured, and his voice trembles:
“Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair!”
“O, how fair art thou, my beloved!”
Tears of delight and gratefulness,—blessed tears,—sparkle upon Sulamith’s pale and beautiful face. Languishing with love, she sinks to the ground and whispers words of madness in a barely audible voice.
“Our bed is green. The beams of our house are cedars.... Kiss me with the kisses of thy mouth—for thy love is better than wine....”
After a brief space Sulamith is lying with her head upon Solomon’s breast. His left arm is embracing her.
Bending to her very ear, the king is whispering something to her; the king is tenderly apologizing, and Sulamith reddens from his words and closes her eyes. Then, with an inexpressibly lovely smile of confusion, she says:
“My mother’s children made me the keeper of the vineyard.... But mine own vineyard have I not kept.”