XIV
My dove, my beautiful one,
Arise, arise!
The night-dew lies
Upon my lips and eyes.
The odorous winds are weaving
A music of sighs:
Arise, arise.
My dove, my beautiful one!
I wait by the cedar tree.
My sister, my love.
White breast of the dove.
My breast shall be your bed.
The pale dew lies
Like a veil on my head.
My fair one, my fair dove.
Arise, arise!
