Solomonic Poetry, Part I: The Young Lover

Rabbi Yonatan said: Song of Songs was written first. After that, Proverbs. And after that, Ecclesiastes.

Rabbi Yonatan proved this from studying the way of the world. For when a person is young, he speaks words of song. When he grows into an adult, he speaks words of instruction. And when he becomes old, words of emptiness.

(1) King Solomon loved many foreign women in addition to Pharaoh’s daughter—Moabite, Ammonite, Edomite, Phoenician, and Hittite women, (2) from the nations of which the Eternal had said to the Israelites, “None of you shall join them and none of them shall join you, lest they turn your heart away to follow their gods.” Such Solomon clung to and loved. (3) He had seven hundred royal wives and three hundred concubines; and his wives turned his heart away. (4) In his old age, his wives turned away Solomon’s heart after other gods, and he was not as wholeheartedly devoted to the Eternal his God as his father David had been. (5) Solomon followed Ashtoret the goddess of the Phoenicians, and Milkom the abomination of the Ammonites. (6) Solomon did what was wicked in the eyes the Eternal and did not remain loyal to the Eternal like his father David.

(7) Then Solomon built a shrine for Kemosh the abomination of Moab on the hill near Jerusalem, and one for Molech the abomination of the Ammonites. (8) And he did the same for all his foreign wives who offered and sacrificed to their gods.

(1) The Song of Songs, by Solomon.

(2) Kiss me with the kisses of your mouth, For your love is better than wine.

(3) The scent of your oils is delightful, and your name is like a fine oil — so all the maidens love you.

(4) Draw me after you, let us run!

The king has brought me into his chambers.

Let us delight and rejoice in your love, Savoring it more than wine— they love you like the finest wine!

(5) I am dark and lovely, O daughters of Jerusalem—

Like the tents of Kedar, Like the curtains of Solomon.

(6) Don’t stare at me because I am swarthy, Because the sun has gazed upon me.

My mother’s sons quarreled with me, they made me guard the vineyards; But my own vineyard I did not guard.

(7) Tell me, you whom I love so well; Where do you pasture your sheep? Where do you rest them at noon? Why should I be like one of those who hangs around the your friends flocks?

(8) If you do not know, O fairest of women, Go follow the tracks of the sheep, And graze your little goats by the shepherd's tents.

(9) I have likened you, my darling, To a mare in Pharaoh’s chariots:

(10) Your cheeks are lovely with plaited wreaths, Your neck with strings of jewels.

(11) We will add wreaths of gold To your spangles of silver.

(12) While the king was on his couch,

My honeysuckle gave forth its fragrance.

(13) My beloved to me is a bag of myrrh Lodged between my breasts.

(14) My beloved to me is a spray of henna blooms From the vineyards of En-gedi.

(15) Ah, you are fair, my darling, Ah, you are beautiful, With your dove-like eyes!

(16) And you, my beloved, are beautiful, Lovely indeed! And our couch is so refreshing;

(17) Cedars are the beams of our house, Cypresses the rafters.

(2) I was asleep, But my heart was wakeful. Hark, my beloved knocks! “Let me in, my own, My darling, my faultless dove! For my head is drenched with dew, My locks with the damp of night.”

(3) I had taken off my robe— Was I to don it again? I had bathed my feet— Was I to soil them again?

(4) My beloved took his hand off the latch, And my heart was stirred for him.

(5) I rose to let in my beloved; My hands dripped myrrh— My fingers, flowing myrrh— Upon the handles of the bolt.

(6) I opened the door for my beloved, But my beloved had turned and gone. I was faint because of what he said. I sought, but found him not; I called, but he did not answer.

(7) I met the watchmen Who patrol the town; They struck me, they bruised me. The guards of the walls Stripped me of my mantle.

(8) Swear to me, O maidens of Jerusalem! If you meet my beloved, tell him this: That I am sick with love.

I was asleep, But my heart was wakeful.

The voice of my beloved knocks! “Open for me!"

My sister, My darling, my pure little dove!

For my head is drenched with dew,

My locks with the damp of night.”