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!