spring, song of the songs

[abejaruco]

Well, this jew superlative, song of the songs, is what comes at my mind during the spring. Perhaps not at my mind, at my spirit.

It´s raining last night, and today the morning was insuperable, precious. The nightingale, ruiseñor, has been singing every minute, everything nice, like an irreal world. At first time came a biblic sentences

"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these"

But my mind sent this ideas to the boxroom because obvious motive, that´s not real.

Really my mind was looking for any biblic sentences that are perfect, the Song of the Songs, Cantar de los Cantares,

"Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves' eyes within thy locks: thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from mount Gilead.
Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that are even shorn, which came up from the washing; whereof every one bear twins, and none is barren among them.
Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet, and thy speech is comely: thy temples are like a piece of a pomegranate within thy locks.
Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thousand bucklers, all shields of mighty men.
Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.
Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, I will get me to the mountain of myrrh, and to the hill of frankincense.
Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.
Come with me from Lebanon, my spouse, with me from Lebanon: look from the top of Amana, from the top of Shenir and Hermon, from the lions' dens, from the mountains of the leopards. "

[kathyp]

there is a lot of poetry in the old testament.  fortunately for us, it has survived multiple translations without to much damage!

you picked a good one.   

[abejaruco]

The first man that translated the Song of the Songs into an occidental modern language wrote also this.

How tranquil is the life
Of him who, shunning the vain world’s uproar, May follow, free from strife, The hidden path, of yore Trod by the few who conned true wisdom’s lore!

I am poetic today,