SOURCE: "Love's Lyrics Redeemed," in God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality, Fortress Press, 1978, pp. 144-65.

[In the following essay, Trible explores thematic and structural links between the Song of Songs and the book of Genesis.]

Love is bone of bone and flesh of flesh. Thus, I hear the Song of Songs. It speaks from lover to lover with whispers of intimacy, shouts of ecstasy, and silences of consummation. At the same time, its unnamed voices reach out to include the world in their symphony of eroticism. This movement between the private and the public invites all companions to enter a garden of delight.

Genesis 2-3 is the hermeneutical key with which I unlock this garden. That narrative began with the development of Eros in four episodes: the forming of the earth creature, the planting of a garden, the making of animals, and the creation of sexuality. Alas, however, the fulfillment proclaimed when 'iš and 'issd became one flesh disintegrated through disobedience. As a result, Yahweh God drove out generic man and invisible woman from the garden, and "at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to guard the way to the tree of life." Clearly, Genesis 2-3 offers no return to the garden of creation. And yet, as scripture interpreting scripture, it provides my clue for entering another garden of Eros, the Song of Songs. Through expansions, omissions, and reversals, this poetry recovers the love that is bone of bone and flesh of flesh. In other words, the Song of Songs redeems a love story gone awry. Taking clues from Genesis 2, then, let us acquire first an overview of the form and content of the Song.

READING THE MUSICAL SCORE

Expanding upon the lyrics of eroticism in Genesis 2, three human voices compose this new Song. They belong to a woman, a man, and a group of women, the daughters of Jerusalem. Independent of logical progression or plot development, these voices flow freely and spontaneously to yield a series of metaphors in which many meanings intertwine simultaneously. At times, the standard, the figurative, and the euphemistic converge so compellingly that one cannot discem where vehicle ends and tenor begins. Often the language is elusive, holding its treasures in secret for the lovers themselves. Occasionally the identity of the speaker is uncertain, creating a problem for observers but not for participants who know that in Eros all voices mingle. Hence, the poetry of the Song resists calculations and invites imagination. The visual must be heard; the auditory, seen. Love itself blends sight, sound, sense, and non-sense. In these ways, the voices of the Song of Songs extol and enhance the creation of sexuality in Genesis 2.

Of the three speakers, the woman is the most prominent. She opens and closes the entire Song, her voice dominant throughout. By this structural emphasis her equality and mutuality with the man is illuminated. The arrangement recalls the stress placed upon the woman at the conclusion of Genesis 2: although equal with the man in creation, she was, nonetheless, elevated in emphasis by the design of the story. In the Song of Songs, accent upon the female is further increased by the presence of the daughters of Jerusalem. As a foil and complement to the lovers, this group aids the flow of the action. Women, then, are the principal creators of the poetry of eroticism.

Strikingly, God does not speak in the Song; nor is the deity even mentioned. This divine absence parallels the withdrawal of Yahweh God in Genesis 2 precisely where the poem of eroticism emerged. After making the woman and bringing her to the transformed earth creature, the deity disappeared from scene one. Then the earth creature spoke for the first time:

This, finally, bone of my bones
  and flesh of my flesh.
This shall be called 'isd
  because from 'is was differentiated this.

Just as the tenor of this poem continues in the Song of Songs, so appropriately does its setting. Yahweh God, who created male and female, withdraws when lovers discover themselves, speak the revelation, and become one flesh.

The cyclic design of Genesis 2 is also reflected and developed in the Song. Originally, the creation of humanity found its fulfillment in the creation of sexuality: the earth creature became two, male and female, and those two became one flesh. With such an erotic completion, the Song of Songs begins, continues, and concludes. As a symphony of love, it unfolds in five major movements of varying lengths. At the conclusions of the first four sections, the woman utters a refrain that both separates and joins these movements. It begins, "I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem." Clusters of verbal motifs that precede this refrain further interrelate the five movements, yielding an ebb and a flow among the images of the Song. An examination of the beginnings and endings of these movements shows the cyclic pattern of the overall composition.

The introductory movement extends from 1:2 to 2:7. By speaking first about her lover, rather than directly to him, the woman invites us to enter their circle of intimacy:

O that he would kiss me with the kisses of his
 mouth!

With the words of her mouth she reaches many; for the kisses of her mouth she desires only one. And by the end of the movement her yearnings are realized:

His left hand is under my head,
  and his right hand embraces me!

This verse appears again at the conclusion of the fourth movement, thus providing one of the many verbal links between sections. Since, with these words, the woman's desire has been fulfilled, she completes the introductory movement by imploring the daughters of Jerusalem to let love happen according to its own rhythm:

I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem,
  by the gazelles or the hinds of the field,
that you stir not up nor awaken love
  until it please.

Having begun the first movement by seeking the touch of her lover's mouth, the woman commences the second by invoking the speech of his lips:

The voice of my lover!
  Behold, he comes,
leaping upon the mountains,
  bounding over the hills.

She concludes this section by seeking and finding her man:

Upon my bed by night
  I sought him whom my nephesh loves;
I sought him, but found him not;
  I called him, but he gave no answer.
"I will rise now and go about the city,
  in the streets and in the squares;
I will seek him whom my nephesh loves."
  I sought him but found him not.
The watchmen found me,
  as they went about in the city.
Him whom my nephesh loves, have you seen?
Scarcely had I passed them,
  when I found him whom my nephesh loves.
I held him, and would not let him go
  until I had brought him into my mother's
 house,
  and into the chamber of her that conceived
 me.

The motifs of the search, the watchmen, and the mother's house surface again in various combinations in the conclusions of the third and fourth movements. Coming together here in the encounter of love, they allow the woman to close this second movement exactly as she did the first. Thus, she implores the daughters of Jerusalem to let love happen according to its own rhythm.

She opens the third movement with a question about her lover:

What is that coming up from the wilderness,
 like a column of smoke,
perfumed with myrrh and frankincense,
 with all the fragrant powders of the
merchant?

To end this section, she returns, with variations, to two of the themes at the conclusion of the second movement: the seeking, but not the finding, of the lover and her discovery by the watchmen, who this time not only fail to help but actually assault her:

My nephesh failed because of him.
I sought him, but found him not;
   I called him, but he gave no answer.
The watchmen found me,
  as they went about in the city;
they beat me, they wounded me,
they took away my mantle,
  those watchmen of the walls.

Exact verbal correspondences between the endings of movements two and three establish parallelism in their structure and content. The differences between them, on the other hand, sustain the tempo and flow of the poetry. Point and counterpoint shape the rhythm of love:

3:1-3a (Second Movement)

Upon my bed by night
 I sought him whom my nephesh loves;
I sought him but found him not:
  I called him but he gave no answer.
"I will rise now and go about the city,
 in the streets and in the squares;
I will seek him whom my nephesh loves."
I sought him but found him not.
The watchmen found me.
 as they went about in the city.

5:6b-7 (Third Movement)

My nephesh failed because of him.
I sought him, but found him not:
  I called him. but he gave no answer.
The watchmen found me.
 as they went about in the city:
they beat me, they wounded me,
  they took away my mantle,
  those watchmen of the walls.

At the very end of the third movement, the woman alters the refrain of adjuration to fit the situation that now exists. Since, contrary to the ending of the second movement (3:4), she does not find her lover, she enlists the daughters of Jerusalem in her search:

I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem,
  if you find my lover,
that you tell him
  I am sick with love.

The words "I am sick with love" repeat a line from the closing sentiments of the first section, thereby showing another interplay among the motifs of the poem. Although these words led to fulfillment in the first movement, here they but long for consummation.

Linked closely to the third movement, the fourth commences with questions by the daughters, who are responding to the woman's plea in the preceding refrain of adjuration:

What is your lover more than another lover,
 O fairest among women?
What is your lover more than another lover
 that you thus adjure us?

This interrogative style parallels the woman's question at the beginning of the third section. And the closing speech of the fourth movement belongs again to the woman. She caresses the man with her voice:

O that you were like a brother to me,
  that nursed at my mother's breast!
If I met you outside, I would kiss you,
  and none would despise me.
I would lead you and bring you
  into the house of my mother,
  and into the chamber of her that conceived
  me.
I would give you spiced wine to drink,
  the juice of my pomegranates.
His left hand is under my head,
  and his right hand embraces me!

Like the end of the third section, this conclusion also returns, with variations, to motifs first appearing at the end of the second movement: finding the lover and bringing him to the house of the mother who conceived her. In the second movement, the woman sought the help of the watchmen and then spoke about her actions toward her lover. Now in the fourth, she addresses her intentions to him directly. Though her reference to "none would despise me" may allude to the watchmen who have since assaulted her, that group is not involved in this ending. Once again, however, exact verbal correspondences between the conclusions of two movements confirm the parallelism in their structure and content, while, on the other hand, differences between them enhance the rhythm of the poetry:

3:3b-4 (Second Movement)

Him whom my nephesh loves, have you seen?

Scarcely had I passed them when I found him
  whom my nephesh loves.
I held him and would not let him go
  until I had brought him into my mother's
  house.
  and into the chamber of her that conceived
  me.

8:1-2a (Fourth Movement)

O that you were like a brother to me,
  that nursed at my mother's breast!
If I found you outside, I would kiss you,
  and none would despise me.
I would lead you and bring you into my
  mother's house
and into the chamber of her that conceived
  me.

The word kiss in the speech of the woman to the man recalls the opening line of the first movement, "O that he would kiss me with the kisses of his mouth." The touch she desired, she now gives: "If I found you outside, I would kiss you." Moreover, in the beginning of the first section, she declared that his "love is better than wine," and at its end she reported that "he brought me to the house of wine." Now, immediately after leading her lover to the house of her mother, she says:

I would give you spiced wine to drink,
  the juice of my pomegranates.

These allusions to the introductory movement are confirmed by the ensuing words of the woman. They repeat verbatim her last statement in the opening section:

His left hand is under my head
  and his right hand embraces me!

With this description the woman ceases to address the man directly and returns to the pattern of third-person narration that she has consistently used at the end of all the preceding movements. Thus she wavers between distance and intimacy.

Finally, the refrain of the fourth movement echoes, with variation, the adjurations of the first and second. Though the gazelles and the hinds of the fields are missing, the rhythm of love is again affirmed:

I adjure you, 0. daughters of Jerusalem,
  that you stir not up nor awaken love until it
  please.

Like the third and fourth movements, the fifth begins with a question. Perhaps the daughters ask it, since they similarly introduced the fourth movement.

Who is that coming up from the wilderness,
 leaning upon her lover?

To conclude this unit, the woman speaks, as indeed she has done at the close of each section. In all these instances, she has referred to the man in the third person, though in the fourth movement she also addressed him directly. In this final movement, however, distance and ambivalence vanish altogether. Intimacy triumphs. The woman summons her man to love:

Make haste, my lover,
 and be like a gazelle
or a young stag
  upon the mountains of spices.

No refrain of adjuration follows these closing words: with the consummation of Eros it is unnecessary. Thus, the daughters of Jerusalem disappear, and we, the readers, must also withdraw. Just as the first words of the woman at the very beginning of the Song invited us to enter the circle of intimacy, so her last words deny us further participation. In the end she speaks directly and only to her lover, the bone of her bone and the flesh of her flesh. The man of Genesis 2 once left his father and mother to cleave to his woman; now the woman of the Song bids her man make haste, and in this bidding all others are left behind. The circle of intimacy closes in exclusion when two become one.

As a symphony of love, the Song of Songs unfolds in five major movements: 1:2-2:7; 2:8-3:5; 3:6-5:8; 5:9-8:4; 8:5-14. The beginnings and endings of these sections demonstrate the interweaving of cyclic patterns in the overall structure. Through the convergence of form and content, these patterns recall cyclic designs throughout Genesis 2. Moreover, several themes in Genesis 2:21-24 have also enhanced our reading of this musical score: the creation and consummation of sexuality; an erotic poem; emphasis upon the female in the design of the literature; and the absence of God when female and male unite. Building upon this interpretation, let us explore leitmotifs within the Song of Songs that further reflect and elucidate Genesis 2-3.

EXPLORING VARIATIONS ON A THEME

A garden (gan) in Eden locates the tragedy of disobedience in Genesis 2-3. But the garden itself signals delight, not disaster, and that perspective reverberates in the Song of Songs. The woman is the garden (gan), and to the garden her lover comes. This vocabulary appears first in the third movement when the man describes love withheld:

A garden locked is my sister, my bride,
  a garden locked, a fountain sealed.

Immediately the woman responds, offering her garden to him:

Awake, O north wind,
 and come, O south wind!
Blow upon my garden,
 let its fragrance be wafted abroad.
Let my iover come to his garden,
 and eat its choicest fruits.

The man accepts the invitation, claiming her garden as his own:

I come to my garden, my sister, my bride.

This imagery of intercourse continues in the fourth movement. Answering questions from the daughters of Jerusalem, the woman says:

My lover has gone down to his garden,
 to the beds of spices,
to pasture in the gardens,
 and to gather lilies.

And in the fifth movement, the last words of the man address the woman with the same motif:

O you who dwell in the gardens,
my companions are listening for your voice; let me hear it.

Male and female first became one flesh in the garden of Eden. There a narrator reported briefly their sexual union. Now in another garden, the lovers themselves praise at length the joys of intercourse. Possessive adjectives do not separate their lives. "My garden" and "his garden" blend in mutual habitation and harmony. Even person and place unite: the garden of eroticism is the woman.

In this garden the sensuality of Eden expands and deepens. Emerging gradually in Genesis 2-3, all five senses capitulated to disobedience through the tasting of the forbidden fruit. Fully present in the Song of Songs from the beginning, these senses saturate the poetry to serve only love. Such love is sweet to the taste, like the fruit of the apple tree. Fragrant are the smells of the vineyards, the perfumes of myrrh and frankincense, the scent of Lebanon, and the beds of spices. The embraces of lovers confirm the delights of touch. A glance of the eyes ravishes the heart, as the sound of the lover thrills it. Taste, smell, touch, sight, and hearing permeate the garden of the Song.

Plants also adorn this place of pleasure—"every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food." Again, what the storyteller in Genesis reported succinctly, the voices in the Song praise extensively. They name not only the trees, but also the fruits and the flowers. For instance, in the first movement the woman describes herself to the man:

I am a lotus of the plain,
  a lily of the valleys.

The word lily suggests to the man an extravagant comparison, to which even the thorns and thistles of the earth contribute:

As a lily among brambles,
 so is my love among women.

The woman replies in kind:

As an apple among the trees of the wood,
 so is my lover among men.

Yet her comparison does not stop there. She expands upon images from the plant world to portray the joy her lover embodies:

In his shadow I delight to rest
  and his fruit is sweet to my taste.
He brought me to the house of wine
  and his emblem over me was love.
Strengthen me with raisin cakes,
  refresh me with apples,
for faint with love am I.

Throughout the Song of Songs other members of the plant world further specify "every tree pleasant to the sight and good for food": the mandrake, the fig tree, the pomegranate, the cedar, the palm, and "all trees of frankincense." And among these many plants, no tree of disobedience grows. Instead, the lovers offer an open invitation to eat freely of every tree of the garden, as well as to drink from its fountain of delight. In their world of harmony, prohibition does not exist:

Eat, O friends, and drink:
  drink deeply, O lovers!

The invitation to drink follows a description of the abundance of water that fills the garden:

a garden fountain, a well of living water,
  and flowing streams from Lebanon.

This imagery recalls the subterranean stream that watered the earth before creation (Gen. 2:6) and clearly invites comparison with the river flowing out of Eden to nourish that garden. In both settings, food and water enhance life.

Animals as well inhabit these two gardens. In Genesis 2:18-20 their creation was marked with ambivalence. Closely identified with the earth creature, they were, nevertheless, a disappointment, for among them "was not found a companion fit for it." Indeed, the power which the earth creature exercised in naming the animals underscored their inadequacy for humankind. Yet, conversely, the animals provided a context for the joy of human sexuality. In Genesis 3, however, the ambivalence of their creation yielded completely to the villainous portrayal of the serpent. The most clever of all wild animals beguiled the naked couple to become their perpetual enemy. In the garden of Eden, then, the animals lived in tension with the human creatures.

But in the garden of the Song of Songs this tension disappears. No serpent bruises the heel of female or male; no animals are indicted as unfit companions for humankind. To the contrary, the beasts of the field and the birds of the air now become synonyms for human joy. Their names are metaphors for love. Scattered throughout the movements of the poetry, these creatures are often used for physical descriptions of the lovers. In the opening poem of the second movement, for example, the woman limns her mate:

leaping upon the mountains,
   bounding over the hills,
My lover is like a gazelle,
 or a young stag.

To these images she returns in the closing lines of the Song. In other places she compares her lover's black hair to a raven and his eyes to "doves beside springs of water." Similarly, the man depicts the beauty of the woman in animal metaphors:

Behold, you are beautiful, my love,
 behold, you are beautiful!
Your eyes are doves
 behind your veil.
Your hair is like a flock of goats,
 moving down the slopes of Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of shorn ewes
 that have come up from the washing,
Each having its twin,
 and not one of them is bereaved.…

Your two breasts are like two fawns,
 twins of a gazelle,
 that feed among the lilies.

The mare, the turtledove, and the lions and the leopards also dwell in this garden where all nature extols the love of female and male. Clearly, the Song of Songs banishes the ambivalence toward animals that Genesis 2 introduced, just as it knows nothing of the villainous serpent in Genesis 3. Even the little foxes that spoil the vineyards can be captured by love. Thus, all animals serve Eros.

Work and play belong together in both the garden of creation and the garden of eroticism. To till and keep the garden of Eden was delight until the primeval couple disobeyed, causing the ground to bring forth thorns and thistles and work to become pain and sweat. In the first movement of the Song of Songs, the woman transforms the pain of work into pleasure. At the command of her mother's sons, she keeps vineyards under the scorching sun; yet, undaunted by this experience of forced labor, she associates it with play:

The sons of my mother were angry at me;
 they made me keeper of the vineyards.
My own vineyard I have not kept!

Identifying herself with a vineyard, the woman hints that her lover is its keeper. Such playfulness directs her to the man, with another allusion to work:

Tell me, you whom my nephesh loves,
 where do you pasture?

The man may well be a shepherd, but for the woman his occupation is the play of intercourse. After all, he pastures among the lilies, and she herself is a lily. By analogy, the man is also a king, but he neither rules nor dispenses wisdom. Instead, he provides luxury for the sake of love. Hence, throughout the garden of the Song, sexual play intertwines with work, redeeming it beyond the judgments of Genesis 3:16-19.

Familial references offer still another study in contrasts. Although in Genesis 2 the creation of male and female was totally independent of parents, in the Song of Songs the births of the lovers are linked to their mothers, though the fathers are never mentioned. Seven times, at least once in every movement, the word mother appears in the poetry. The man calls his love the special child of the mother who bore (yld) her, even as the woman cites the travail of the mother who bore (yld) him. Appropriately, both these references allude to the beauty of birth; they know nothing at all of the multiplication of pain in childbearing. Moreover, in yearning for closeness with her lover, the woman wishes that he were a brother nursing at the breast of her mother. Again, she parallels the desire for sexual union with her own conception; thus, she wants to lead the man

into the house of my mother,
and into the chamber of her
  that conceived me.

This entry into the mother's house for intercourse suggests its opposite in Genesis 2:24. There the man broke up a family for the sake of sexual union. He left his father and mother to cleave to his woman. Standing alone, without parents, the woman was highlighted as the one to whom he must come. In the Song, the woman is emphasized, by contrast, as the one who brings the man into her mother's house. From different perspectives, two other passages in the Song also mention the mother. The woman identifies her brothers as "sons of my mother," and later she beholds King Solomon

with the crown with which his mother crowned him
on the day of his wedding,
on the day of the gladness of his heart.

Unquestionably, these seven references to mother, without a single mention of father, underscore anew the prominence of the female in the lyrics of love. Once again, then, the Song of Songs expands and varies a theme present in Genesis 2-3.

Belonging to a historical rather than a primeval setting, the Song also extends the witnesses to love beyond the human inhabitants of Eden. Certain groups are hostile, for not all the world loves a lover. Specifically, the woman encounters anger from her brothers and physical assault from the watchmen of the city. But other witnesses celebrate the happiness and beauty of the lovers: kings; queens and concubines; warriors, indeed, an army with banners; merchants with their fragrant powders; shepherds; and the daughters of Jerusalem. Moreover, the woman herself exults that other women, as well as men, adore her mate. In their attraction for him, she finds joy, not jealousy:

your name is oil poured out;
  therefore, the maidens love you.
Draw me after you, let us make haste.
  The king has brought me into his chambers.
We will exult and rejoice in you;
 we will extol your love more than wine;
 rightly do they [masculine] love you.

Similarly, the man rejoices that other men, as well as women, delight in his partner:

O you who dwell in the gardens,
my companions [masculine] are listening for your voice;
let me hear it.…

The maidens saw her and called her happy;
the queens and concubines also, and they
  praised her.

Throughout the Song, Eros is inclusive; the love between two welcomes the love and companionship of many. Only at the end does exclusion close this circle of intimacy.

On two occasions the woman expresses intimacy by the formula "My lover is mine, and I am his." This interchange of pronouns parallels the union of "my garden" with "his garden." Love is harmony. Neither male nor female asserts power or possession over the other. In light of Genesis 3:16, a third expression of this idea is particularly striking. The woman says, "I am my lover's and for me is his desire." Her use of the word desire (te"Jaqd) echoes, in contrast, the divine judgment upon the first woman: "Your desire [t"Jaqd] shall be for your man, but he shall rule over you." In Eden, the yearning of the woman for harmony with her man continued after disobedience. Yet the man did not reciprocate; instead, he ruled over her to destroy unity and pervert sexuality. Her desire became his dominion. But in the Song, male power vanishes. His desire becomes her delight. Another consequence of disobedience is thus redeemed through the recovery of mutuality in the garden of eroticism. Appropriately, the woman sings the lyrics of this grace: "I am my lover's and for me is his desire."

A further hint of redemption comes in the way the word name is used in the two gardens. When the transformed earth creature called the woman 'iššâ (and himself 'îš), he did not name her but rather rejoiced in the creation of sexuality. But when the disobedient man called his woman's name (šēm) Eve, he ruled over her to destroy their one flesh of equality. On the other hand, the opening lines of the Song of Songs convert the motif of the name to the service of sexual fulfillment. The woman herself utters this word in a pun of adoration for the man:

For better is your love than wine;
  your anointing oils are fragrant;
oil [šemen] poured out is your name [š^emekā.

Rather than following her man out of the garden, this woman bids him bring her to his palace of pleasure: "Draw me after you, let us make haste." For her, naming is ecstasy, not dominion. A new context marks a new creation.

Love redeemed meets even death unflinchingly. Although the threat of death belonged to the creation of Eros, it was through human disobedience that death became the disintegration of life. Harmony gave way to hostility; unity and fulfillment to fragmentation and dispersion. In the closing movement of the Song of Songs, this tragedy is reversed. Once again, eroticism can embrace the threat of death. The woman says

Let me be a seal upon your heart,
Like the seal upon your hand.
For love is fierce as death,
Passion is mighty as Sheol;
Its darts are darts of fire,
A blazing flame.

But she does more than affirm love as the equal of death. She asserts triumphantly that not even the primeval waters of chaos can destroy Eros:

Many waters cannot quench love,
 neither can floods drown it.

As a "garden fountain, a well of living water [mayim hayyim]," a woman in love prevails over the many waters (mayim rabbim) of chaos. With such assurances, the poetry moves inexorably to its consummation.

COMPLETING THE SONG

Using Genesis 2-3 as a key for understanding the Song of Songs, we have participated in a symphony of love. Born to mutuality and harmony, a man and a woman live in a garden where nature and history unite to celebrate the one flesh of sexuality. Naked without shame or fear, this couple treat each other with tenderness and respect. Neither escaping nor exploiting sex, they embrace and enjoy it. Their love is truly bone of bone and flesh of flesh, and this image of God male and female is indeed very good. Testifying to the goodness of creation, then, eroticism becomes worship in the context of grace.

In this setting, there is no male dominance, no female subordination, and no stereotyping of either sex. Specifically, the portrayal of the woman defies the connotations of "second sex." She works, keeping vineyards and pasturing flocks. Throughout the Song she is independent, fully the equal of the man. Although at times he approaches her, more often she initiates their meetings. Her movements are bold and open: at night in the streets and squares of the city she seeks the one whom her nephesh loves. No secrecy hides her yearnings. Moreover, she dares to describe love with revealing metaphors:

My lover put his hand to the latch,
 and my womb trembled within me.

Never is this woman called a wife, nor is she required to bear children. In fact, to the issues of marriage and procreation the Song does not speak. Love for the sake of love is its message, and the portrayal of the female delineates this message best.

Though love is fulfilled when the woman and the man close the circle of intimacy to all but themselves, my imagination posits a postlude to the poetry. In this fantasy "the cherubim and a flaming sword" appear to guard the entrance to the garden of the Song. They keep out those who lust, moralize, legislate, or exploit. They also turn away literalists. But at all times they welcome lovers to romp and roam in the joys of eroticism:

Arise. mv love. mv 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 pruning has come,
and the voice of the turtledove
  is heard in our land.
The fig tree puts forth its figs,

  and the vines are in blossom;
  they give forth fragrance.
Arise, my love, my fair one.
  and come away.

Thus far we have studied two portrayals of male and female in the Old Testament. Genesis 2-3 depicted a tragedy of disobedience; the Song of Songs, a symphony of eroticism.…