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My beloved has gone down to his garden,
    to the beds of spices,
to pasture his flock in the gardens,
    and to gather lilies.
I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine;
    he pastures his flock among the lilies.

The Bride’s Matchless Beauty

You are beautiful as Tirzah, my love,
    comely as Jerusalem,
    terrible as an army with banners.

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