Song of Songs
Saturday, April 3rd, 2010
Each verse is sweeter than the previous. Accompanied by the weeping strings of the Dirty Three, it’s heartbreakingly, anachronistically beautiful.
Upon my bed at night
I sought him whom my sould loves;
I sought him, but found him not;
I called him, but he gave no
answer.
“I will rise now and go about
the city,
in the streets and in the squares;
I will seek him whom my soul loves.”
I sought him, but found him not.
The sentinels found me,
as they went about in the city.
“Have you seen him whom my soul
loves?”
Your lips are like a crimson thread,
and your mouth is lovely.
Your cheeks are like halves of a
pomegranate
behind your veil.
Your neck is like the tower of David,
built in courses;
on it hang a thousand bucklers,
all of them shields of warriors.
Your two breasts are like two fawns,
twins of a gazelle,
that fed among the lilies.
