| Awake, awake oh northern wind
|
| Blow on my garden fair
|
| Let my lover come to me
|
| And tell me of his care
|
| For now the winter it is past
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| Likewise the drops of rain
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| Come lie in the valley of lilies
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| Midst the roses of the plain
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| He took me to a garden fair
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| And there he laid me down
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| His left hand lay beneath my head
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| His right did me surround
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| His eyes were palms by water brooks
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| His fingers rods of gold
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| His head upon my breast did lie
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| His love did me enfold
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| Her hair is like a flock of goats
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| Across the mountain side
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| Her breasts are like the grapes upon
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| The vine where I shall bide
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| Her mouth is sweeter far than vine
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| And warm to my embrace
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| No mountain side can hide my love
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| No veil conceal her face
|
| My lover’s hand was on the door
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| My belly stirred within
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| My fingers wet with myrrh
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| I pulled the bolt to let him in
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| With my own hands I opened
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| But I found I was alone
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| My soul failed for my lover had
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| Withdrawn himself and gone
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| I’ll get me to a mount of myrrh
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| And there I’ll lay me down
|
| For waters cannot quench my love
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| In floods it cannot drown
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| My love is clear as the sun
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| She’s fair as the moon
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| Oh stir not up nor waken love
|
| Lest it should come to soon |