They are wet with the rain of the mountains and cling to the rock for lack of shelter.
Those who once feasted on delicacies perish in the streets; those who were brought up in purple embrace ash heaps.
of whom the world was not worthy—wandering about in deserts and mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth.
I slept, but my heart was awake. A sound! My beloved is knocking. “Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my perfect one, for my head is wet with dew, my locks with the drops of the night.”
They lie all night naked, without clothing, and have no covering in the cold.
(There are those who snatch the fatherless child from the breast, and they take a pledge against the poor.)