Message de théoto posté le 2004-09-29 23:13:11 (S | E | F | I)
Those few words are dedicated to all women who feel lonely, who suffer in silence;
those hearts who endure because they have not been warm regards with love.

Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come,
and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
The fig tree putteth forth her green figs,
and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell.
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock,
in the secret places of the stairs,
let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice;
for sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair.

By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth:
I sought him, but I found him not.
I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets,
and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth:
I sought him, but I found him not.

Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair.

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Edité par bridg le 30-09-2004 05:34