They are wet with the rain of the mountains, and cling to the rock for want of shelter.
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 take in pledge the infant of the poor.)
I slept, but my heart was awake. Hark! 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.”
Those who feasted on dainties perish in the streets; those who were brought up in purple lie on ash heaps.
of whom the world was not worthy—wandering over deserts and mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth.