The voice of the dove calls,
It says: “The earth is bright.”
What have I to do outside?
Stop, thou birdling! You chide me!
I have found my brother in his bed,
My heart is glad beyond all measure.
We each say:
“I will not tear myself away.”
My hand is in his hand.
I wander together with him
To every beautiful place.
He makes me the first of maidens,
Nor does he grieve my heart.
From a beautiful collection of love poetry c. 2000 – 1100 B.C.E. from Ancient History Sourcebook.