The Song of Songs for Solomon

Luigi Scaglia

Sicilianu

English

Chap. I

May he kiss me with a kiss from his mouth: for your breasts are better than wine.
More fragrant than the best ointments. Your name is oil, which drips: that’s why the young ones love you.
Draw me: we will follow you to the smell of your ointments. The king made me enter into his chambers: we will exult and rejoice for you, remembering that your breasts are better than wine: righteous men love you.
I am black, but beautiful, oh children of Jerusalem, like the tabernacles of Kedar, and like the skin of Solomon.
Don't you stare at me because I am black, for the sun has tanned me: my mother's children have fought against me, they have set me as a guardian in the vineyards, and you didn't look at my vineyard.
Show me, oh love of my soul, where you are going to feed your flock, where you rest in the middle of the day, lest I should go wandering to the flocks of your companions.
If you don't know it, oh most beautiful among women, go out, and follow the footsteps of the flock, and feed your kid goats near the shepherd's camps.
I likened you, my friend, to the female horses of Pharaoh's chariots.
Your cheeks are as beautiful as the pendants: your neck as the jeweled necklaces.
We will make you pendants of gold, punctuated with silver.
Being the king at his banquet table, my spikenard scattered his aroma.
My beloved is for me a bunch of myrrh, it will always be in my breasts.
My beloved is for me like a cluster of henna from the vineyards of Engedi.
You are truly beautiful, my dear, truly beautiful, your eyes are those of doves.
Truly you are beautiful, my beloved, and gracious. Our bed is flowered:
The beams of our houses are of cedar, and the ceilings are of cypress.

Chap. II

I am the flower of the fields, and the lily of the valleys.
Like the lily among thorns, so is my beloved among young women.
Like the apple tree among the trees of the woods, so is my beloved among young men. I sat under the shadow of the one who had desired: and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
He entered into the wine cellar, and explained his love over me.
Suspend me from flowers, support me with apples: that I languish with love.
His left hand under my head, and his right hand would embrace me.
I beg you, oh children of Jerusalem, for the goats and the deer of the fields, not to breathe, and not to disturb the dream of my beloved, until she desires.
Here is the voice of my love, he comes climbing up the mountains, and skipping through the hills:
My delight resembles a roe-deer, and a fawn. Here he stands behind our wall looking at the windows, observing from the grates.
Here my beloved speaks to me: Arise, walk, my love, my dove, my beautiful, and come.
The winter has already passed, the rains have passed and gone away.
The flowers sprung up on our land, the time of pruning came: the song of the turtledoves is heard in our land:
The fig tree cast out its first figs, and the blooming vineyards shed its fragrance. Rise up, my love, my beautiful, and come:
Oh my dove in the holes of the stones and in the recesses of the cliffs, show me your face, let me hear your voice: for your voice is sweet, and your face is beautiful.
Catch us the little foxes, that damage the vineyards: for our vineyard flourished.
My beloved is mine, and I am his, who feeds among the lilies.
While the day lasts, and the shadows bow down. Come back, my beloved, you are like the roe-deer and the fawn in the mountains of Bether.

Chap. III

At night, I looked in my bed for him, who loves my soul: I looked for him, and I did not find him.
I will rise up, and will go around the city: through the alleys and the streets I will seek him, who loves my soul: I sought him, and I did not find him.
The guardians who watch the city met me: have you perhaps seen him, who loves my soul?
As soon as I had passed them, I found the one who loves my soul: I took him and I will not leave him, until I bring him into my mother's house, and into the room of the one who gave birth to me.
I beg you, oh children of Jerusalem, for the goats, and the deer of the field, that you would not arouse, nor make my beloved watch, until she wants.
Who is this, who takes away through the desert as a column of odorous smoke of myrrh, and of incense, and of every dust of perfume?
Here, around the bed of Solomon, are sixty strongmen of the strongest men of Israel:
All holding the sword, to valiant in war: each one's sword on their thigh against the dangers of the night.
King Solomon made himself a carriage of wood from Lebanon:
He made the columns of silver, the golden bedside, the purple canopy: and in the middle he stretched out a love as a sign to the children of Jerusalem:
Go out and look, oh children of Zion, King Solomon with the crown that his mother placed on him on the day of his marriage and on the day of his heart’s joy.

Chap. IV

How beautiful are you, my dear, how beautiful are you! Your eyes are like those of the doves, without that which stays hidden inside. Your hair is like the herds of the goats, that climbed the mountain of Gilead.
Your teeth are like the sheared herds, that came from washed creatures, all with two twin followers, none among them is sterile.
Your lips are like a scarlet strand, and your word is sweet. Your cheeks are like a section of pomegranate, without that which stays hidden inside.
Your neck is like the tower of David, which is built with bastions: a thousand shields are hung upon it, all the armor of the forts.
Your two breasts are like two twin fawns, who feed among the lilies.
As long as the day lasts, and the shadows grow longer, I will go to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of incense.
You are all beautiful, my beloved, there is no stain upon you.
Come from Lebanon, my bride, come from Lebanon: you will be crowned by the summit of Amana, the tip of Sanir, and of Hermon, from the dens of lions, and from the mountains of leopards.
You hurt my heart, my sister, my bride, you hurt my heart with your eye, and with the mane of your neck.
How beautiful is your chest sister my bride! Your breasts are more beautiful than wine, and the smell of your perfume is better than any aroma.
Your lips, oh bride, drip with honey, milk and honey under your tongue: and the smell of your garments is like the smell of incense.
You are a closed garden, my sister, my bride: you are a sealed fountain.
Your breaths are a paradise of pomegranate and apples. They are cypress trees with spikenard.
Spikenard and saffron, aromatic reed and a cinnamon with all the wood of Lebanon, myrrrh and aloes with all the best perfumes.
Fountain of gardens: surging with living water, that flows with impetus from Lebanon.
Arise, oh north wind, and come, oh west wind, and blow upon my garden, so that their aromas may be spread.

Chap. V

My beloved comes to his garden, and he would eat the fruit of his apples. I came to my garden, my sister, my bride, I gathered my myrrh with my aromas: I ate honeycomb with my honey, I drank my wine with my milk: eat, and drink, friends, and get drunk, oh dearest friends.
I sleep, and my heart keeps watch: the voice of my beloved, which knocks: open, my sister, my friend, my dove, my immaculate: for my head is wet with dew, and my hair with the drops of the night.
I took my clothes off, how will I put them on? I washed my feet, how will I dirty them again?
I took my clothes off, how will I put them on? I washed my feet, how will I dirty them again?
I rose up, to open for my beloved: my hands dripped with myrrh, and my fingers filled with pure myrrh.
I opened the latch of my door to my beloved; but he had withdrawn, and passed on. My soul melted, as soon as he had spoken: I sought him, and I did not find him: I called him, and he did not answer me.
I found the guards that circle through the city: they beat me, and they injured me: the guardians of the walls took off my mantle.
I beg you, the children of Jerusalem, if you find my beloved, to tell you, that I will languish with love.
What is your lover among lovers, or the most beautiful of women? What is your lover among lovers, for whom did you beg us so?
My beloved is white and red, the best among thousands.
His head is like fine gold: his hair like palm leaves, black as the raven.
His eyes are like doves on streams of waters, which are washed with milk, sitting near the abundant springs.
His cheeks are like a ring of sweet aromas planted by a perfumer. His lips are lilies that distill perfect myrrh.
His hands of gold, full of hyacinths. His stomach of ivory, covered with sapphires.
His legs are columns of marble, which are placed on bases of gold. His appearance like Lebanon, distinct as cedars.
His very sweet and all desirable throat: such is my beloved, and this is my friend, or children of Jerusalem.
Where did your beloved go, oh most beautiful of women? In what direction has your beloved gone? We will seek him with you.

Chap. VI

My lover went down into his garden into the rings of aromas, to feed among the gardens, and to gather lilies.
I belong to my lover, and my lover belongs to me; he feeds among the lilies.
You are beautiful, my friend, sweet, and majestic as Jerusalem: terrible as an army prepared to fight.
Turn your eyes away from above me, because they make me hallucinate: your hair is like a herd of goats, that appeared in Gilead.
Your teeth are like a herd of sheep, that come to be washed, all with two twin followers, none of them are sterile.
Your cheeks are like a section of pomegranate, without that which stays hidden inside.
There are sixty queens, eighty concubines, and young women without number.
One is my dove, my perfect, is the only one of her mother, and the chosen one of her parents. The damsels saw her, and boasted of her as most beautiful: the queens and the concubines, and they praised her.
Who is this, that advances like the dawn, that springs, beautiful as the moon, unique as the sun, terrible as an army prepared to fight?
I went down into the walnut grove, to see the apples of the valleys, and to see if the vineyard had flowered, and if the pomegranates had blossomed.
I did not see him: my soul was troubled because of the chariots of Aminadab.
Come back, come back, oh Shulammite, come back, come back, so that we will see you.

Chap. VII

What will you see in the Shulammite, if not a military chorus? Oh how beautiful are your steps with these sandals, prince's daughter! The joints of your hips are like necklaces, which are made by a master's hands.
Your navel is like a cup made round, which never lacks a drink. Your veins are like a grain of wheat, surrounded by lilies.
Your two breasts are like two twins of a roe-buck.
Your neck is like a tower of ivory. Your eyes are like two fish ponds of Heshbon, which are at the door of this daughter of the peoples. Your nose is like the tower of Lebanon, looking toward Damascus.
Your head is like Carmel: and your head's hair, like the purple of the king tied in the canals.
How beautiful you are, and how majestic, oh dear, in your delights!
Your stature resembles a palm, and your breasts, clusters.
I said: "I will climb up the palm, and I will gather its fruit: and your breasts will be like clusters of grapes: and the breath from your mouth like that of apples."
Your throat is like the best wine, worthy to be drunk by my beloved, and to be consumed with those lips and teeth.
I am of my beloved, and he is turned towards me.
Come, oh my beloved, let's go out to the country, and let's dwell in the little houses.
Tomorrow we’ll get up to go to the vineyards, we’ll see if the vineyard has flowered, if the flowers produce fruit, if the pomegranates have blossomed: there I will give you my breasts.
The mandrakes give forth breath. On our gates there are all fruits: the new and the old, which I have saved for you, my beloved.

Chap. VIII

Who will give you to me, my brother, you, who sucks my mother's breasts. I would find you out there, and kiss you, and so nobody would despise me any more?
I will take you, and I will bring you into my mother's house: there you will teach me, and I will give you a cup of prepared wine, and my pomegranate juice.
His left hand under my head, and with his right hand he will embrace me.
I beg you, oh children of Jerusalem, not to waken, and not to watch my beloved, until she wants.
Who is this, climbing from the desert, full of delights, leaning upon her lover? Under the apple tree you were awakening: there your mother was corrupted, your mother was violated there.
Set me like a seal on your heart, like a seal on your arm: for love is as strong as death, and jealousy is as hard as hell: its ardors are ardors of fire and of flames.
All the waters could not extinguish love, nor the rivers to negate it: if the man gave all the wealth of his house for love, she would despise him as nothing.
Our sister is small, and does have a chest. What will we do for our sister on the day that one should speak to her?
If it is a wall, we will build upon a silver bastion: if it is a door, we will reinforce it with cedar tables.
I am a wall: and my breasts are like towers, until I have become before him as one who has found peace.
The peaceful one had a vineyard in a populous city: he delivered it to the guardians: one brings for its fruits a thousand coins of silver.
My vineyard is before me. One thousand coins are yours, oh peaceful one, and two hundred for those guard its fruits.
Oh you, who dwell in the gardens, the friends hear: let me hear your voice.
Flee, my beloved, and make like the roe-buck and the fawn on the mountain of the aromas.

original source

Scaglia, Luigi (1860). Il Cantico de' Cantici di Salomone, volgarizzato in dialetto siciliano. London.

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