"This is the twentieth day of the fourth month.

To-day, five years ago, my Rachel, thy mother, fell down and died.

They brought me home broken as thou seest me, and we found her dead of grief.

Oh, to me she was a cluster of camphire in the vineyards of En-Gedi! I have gathered my myrrh with my spice.

I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey.