Maria Estremera

Song Of Solomon - Poem by Maria Estremera

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth,
for thy love is sweeter than wine.
Behold, thou art fair, my love, behold,
thou art fair, thou hast doves eyes.
His left hand is under my head,
and his right hand doth embrace me.
The voice of my beloved! Behold,
he cometh leaping upon the mountains,
skipping upon the hills.
My beloved spake, and said unto me,
Rise up, my love, my fair one,
and come away.
For lo, the winter is past,
the rain is over and gone.
My beloved is mine and I am his;
he feedeth among the lilies.
By night on my bed I sought him,
whom my soul loveth.
I sought him, but I found him not.
I found him whom my soul loveth.
I held him and would not let him go,
until I had brought him into my mother's house,
and into the chambers of her that conceived me.
Awake, O north wind, and come, thou south;
blow upon my garden, that the spices
thereof may flow out.
Let my beloved come into his garden,
and eat his pleasant fruits.
My beloved is white and ruddy,
the cheifest among ten thousand.
His head is as the most fine gold,
his locks are bushy, and black as a raven.
His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers
of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.
His cheeks are as a bed of spices,
as sweet as flowers: his lips like lilies,
dropping sweet smelling myrrh.
His legs are as pillars of marble,
his mouth is most sweet; yea,
he is altogether lovely.
This is my beloved, and this is my friend.
Many waters cannot quench love,
neither can the floods drown it,
if a man would give all substance
of his house for love,
it would utterly be condemned.
I am a wall, and my breast like towers;
then was I in his eyes as one that found favor.
Make haste, my beloved,
and be thou like to a roe or to young hart
upon the mountains of spices.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, August 5, 2010

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