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									I have come to my garden, my sister-spouse, || I have plucked my myrrh with my spice, || I have eaten my comb with my honey, || I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, O friends, drink, || Indeed, drink abundantly, O beloved ones!
								
							 
																								
								2
								
									I am sleeping, but my heart wakes: The sound of my beloved knocking! “Open to me, my sister, my friend, || My dove, my perfect one, || For my head is filled [with] dew, || My locks [with] drops of the night.”
								
							 
																								
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									I have put off my coat, how do I put it on? I have washed my feet, how do I defile them?
								
							 
																								
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									My beloved sent his hand from the network, || And my bowels were moved for him.
								
							 
																								
								5
								
									I rose to open to my beloved, || And my hands dripped myrrh, || Indeed, my fingers were flowing [with] myrrh, || On the handles of the lock.
								
							 
																								
								6
								
									I opened to my beloved, || But my beloved withdrew—he passed on, || My soul went forth when he spoke, I sought him, and did not find him. I called him, and he did not answer me.
								
							 
																								
								7
								
									The watchmen who go around the city, || Found me, struck me, wounded me, || Keepers of the walls lifted up my veil from off me.
								
							 
																								
								8
								
									I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, || If you find my beloved—What do you tell him? That I [am] sick with love!
								
							 
																								
								9
								
									What [is] your beloved above [any] beloved, || O beautiful among women? What [is] your beloved above [any] beloved, || That thus you have adjured us?
								
							 
																								
								10
								
									My beloved [is] clear and ruddy, || Conspicuous above a myriad!
								
							 
																								
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									His head [is] pure gold—fine gold, || His locks flowing, dark as a raven,
								
							 
																								
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									His eyes as doves by streams of water, || Washing in milk, sitting in fullness.
								
							 
																								
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									His cheeks [are] as a bed of the spice, towers of perfumes, || His lips—lilies, dripping [and] flowing [with] myrrh,
								
							 
																								
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									His hands rings of gold, set with beryl, || His heart bright ivory, covered with sapphires,
								
							 
																								
								15
								
									His limbs pillars of marble, || Founded on sockets of fine gold, || His appearance as Lebanon, choice as the cedars.
								
							 
																								
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									His mouth is sweetness—and all of him desirable, || This [is] my beloved, and this my friend, || O daughters of Jerusalem!
								
							 
																						
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