I am sleeping, but my heart waketh: The sound of my beloved knocking! ‘Open to me, my sister, my friend, My dove, my perfect one, For my head is filled [with] dew, My locks [with] drops of the night.’
and it hath been, in the morning, about the rising of the sun, thou dost rise early, and hast pushed against the city; and lo, he and the people who [are] with him are going out unto thee — and thou hast done to him as thy hand doth find.’