After a brief space Sulamith is lying with her head upon Solomon's
breast. His left arm is embracing her.

Bending to her very ear, the king is whispering something to her; the
king is tenderly apologizing, and Sulamith reddens from his words and
closes her eyes. Then, with an inexpressibly lovely smile of confusion,
she says:

"My mother's children made me the keeper of the vineyard.... But mine
own vineyard have I not kept."

But Solomon takes her little swarthy hand and presses it fervently to
his lips.

"Thou dost not regret this, Sulamith?"

"O nay, my king, my beloved. I regret it not. Wert thou to arise this
minute and go from me, and were I condemned never to see thee after, I
would to the end of my life utter thy name with gratitude, Solomon!"

"Tell me one thing else, Sulamith.... Only, I beseech thee, speak the
truth, my undefiled.... Didst thou know who I am?"

"Nay,--even now I know it not. Methought.... But I am shamed to confess
it.... I fear thou wilt laugh at me.... They tell, that here, upon Mount
Beth-El-Khav, pagan gods do oft wander.... Many of them, it is said, are
beautiful.... And methought: art thou not Hor, the son of Osiris; or
else some other god?"

"Nay, I am but a king, beloved. But here, upon this spot, I kiss thy
dear hand, scorched of the sun, and swear to thee that never
yet--neither in the time of first love longings, nor in the days of my
glory--has my heart flamed with such an insatiable desire as that which
is awakened within me by thy mere smile, by the mere touch of thy
flaming locks,--the mere curve of thy purple lips! Thou art comely as
the tents of Kedar, as the curtains in the temple of Solomon! Thy
caresses intoxicate me. Behold thy breasts--they are fragrant. Thy
nipples are as wine!"

"O, yea,--gaze, gaze upon me, beloved. Thy eyes arouse me! O, what
joy!--for thy desire is unto me,--me! Thy locks are scented. As a bundle
of myrrh thou dost lie betwixt my breasts!"

Time ceases its current and closes over them in a solar cycle. Their bed
is the green; their roof is of cedars; and their walls are of cypresses.
And the banner over their tent is love.

CHAPTER SEVEN

VII.

The king had a pool in his palace,--an octagonal, fresh pool of white
marble. Steps of dark-green malachite ran down to its bottom. A facing
of AEgyptian jasper, snowy-white, with pink, barely perceptible little
veins, served as a frame for the pool. The best of ebony had gone for