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As the work of the pomegranate [is] thy temple behind thy veil.

Sixty are queens, and eighty concubines, And virgins without number.

One is my dove, my perfect one, One she [is] of her mother, The choice one she [is] of her that bare her, Daughters saw, and pronounce her happy, Queens and concubines, and they praise her.

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Your temples behind your veil(A)
    are like the halves of a pomegranate.(B)
Sixty queens(C) there may be,
    and eighty concubines,(D)
    and virgins beyond number;
but my dove,(E) my perfect one,(F) is unique,
    the only daughter of her mother,
    the favorite of the one who bore her.(G)
The young women saw her and called her blessed;
    the queens and concubines praised her.

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