1:6 Do not stare at me because I am dark,
for the sun has burned my skin.
My brothers were angry with me;
they made me the keeper of the vineyards.
Alas, my own vineyard I could not keep!
The Beloved to Her Lover:
8:1 Oh, how I wish you were my little brother,
nursing at my mother’s breasts;
if I saw you outside, I could kiss you –
surely no one would despise me!