Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • A SONG
    She sat on the terraced hill
    watching a boy
    sounding a flute –
    She sat on terraced hill and
    sensuous embrace
    of sound
    and night
    and love -
    her beloved.

    For the time of singing birds
    is come;
    winter is over and gone.

    Black and comely with
    doves’ eyes,
    sounding flute tones.
    I will seek him whom my soul
    I sought him
    but I found him not.

    She sat on terraced hills
    terraced tears,
    her ravished heart overcome
    doves’ eyes, black and comely.
    “Oh, that you were as my brother,”
    she sang,
    and turned away her eyes.

    North wind gently blew
    from the South.
    Frankincense and myrrh
    perfumed the terrace air
    in wakeful hearts.

    “Watchmen will find me calling,”
    she sang,
    “Smite me.
    Wound me
    at the gates,”
    she sang.

    I sought him
    whom my soul loves,
    but I found him not
    heard him not.
    She sat on terrace, honeycombed
    in a fountain of gardens.

    “If you find my beloved,
    tell him–

    Tell him.
    he is most sweet,
    most lovely my friend is,
    a seal upon my heart."
    “Do not wake my love until it pleases...
    until it pleases.”

    She slept on terraced hills,
    black and comely dove.
    “Rise up, my fair one
    and come a way.”

    Your heart in rubies paved
    with love
    in the days of gladness of his heart,
    you are fair as the moon,
    clear as the sun
    altogether lovely
    most sweet.

    Gold-ringed beryl,
    ivory, sapphire pillars
    of marble.
    My vineyard, my wall;
    the beams of our house
    are made of cedar –
    and our rafter of cypresses.
    Make haste,
    make haste, beloved.
    In the days of gladness of his heart –
    my sister
    my love
    my dove.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.