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I rose to open for my lover,
    my hands dripping myrrh:
My fingers, flowing myrrh
    upon the handles of the lock.
I opened for my lover—
    but my lover had turned and gone!
    At his leaving, my soul sank.
I sought him, but I did not find him;
    I called out after him, but he did not answer me.[a]
The watchmen[b] found me,
    as they made their rounds in the city;
They beat me, they wounded me,
    they tore off my mantle,
    the watchmen of the walls.

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Footnotes

  1. 5:6 The motif of the locked-out lover is common in classical Greek and Latin poetry.
  2. 5:7 The watchmen: they do not know the reason for the woman’s appearance in the city streets; cf. 3:2–4.