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The Bride

I am black, but beautiful,
    O daughters of Jerusalem,
like the tents of Kedar,
    like the curtains of Solomon.
Do not gaze at me because I am dark,
    because the sun has looked on me.
My mother’s sons were angry with me
    and made me keeper of the vineyards;
    my very own vineyard I have not kept.
Tell me, the one my soul loves,
    where you graze your flock,
    where you make it lie down at noon?
Why should I be as one veiled
    beside the flocks of your companions?

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