But the love of the lowly maiden of the vineyard and the great king shall never pass away nor be forgotten,—for love is strong as death; for every woman who loves is a queen; for love is beautiful.
IX.
Seven days had sped since Solomon,—poet, sage, and king,—had brought into his palace the lowly maiden he had met in the vineyard at dawn. For seven days did the king take joyance in her love, nor could be sated therewith. And a great joy irradiated his countenance, like to the golden light of the sun.
It was the time of light, warm, moonlit nights,—sweet nights of love.... Upon a couch of tiger fells lay the naked Sulamith; and the king, sitting upon the floor at her feet, filled his emerald goblet with the aureate wine of Mauretus, and drank to the health of his beloved, rejoicing with all his heart, and narrated to her the sage, strange legends of eld. And Sulamith’s hand rested upon his head, stroking his wavy black hair.
“Tell me, my king,” Sulamith had once asked, “is it not wonderful that I fell in love with thee so instantly? I now call all things to mind, and meseems I began belonging to thee from the very first moment, when I had not yet had time to behold thee, but had merely heard thy voice. My heart began to flutter and did open to meet thee, as a flower opens to the south wind on a night in summer. How hast thou taken me so, my beloved?”
And the king, quietly bending his head toward the soft knees of Sulamith, smiled tenderly and answered:
“Thousands of women before thee, O my comely one, have put this question to their beloveds, and hundreds of ages after thee will they be asking their beloveds about this. There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not: the way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid. This is not my wisdom, Sulamith,—these are the words of Agur, son of Jakeh, heard from him by his disciples. But let us honour the wisdom of others also.”
“Yea,” said Sulamith pensively, “mayhap it is even true that man shall never comprehend this. To-day, during the banquet, I wore a sweet-smelling cluster of stacte upon my breast. But thou didst leave the table, and my flowers ceased to give out their smell. Meseems, thou must be beloved, O king, of women, and men, and beasts, and even of flowers. I oft ponder, yet comprehend not: how can one love any other save thee?”
“And any save thee, save thee, Sulamith! Every hour do I render thanks to God for that He has set thee in my path.”