Hark! my beloved! he is knocking!
Open to me, my sister, my love!
My dove, my perfect beauty! [[165]]
For my head is filled with dew,
My locks with the drops of the night.
3 I have put off my tunic,
How shall I put it on?
I have washed my feet,
How shall I soil them?
4 My beloved withdrew his hand from the door hole,