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Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride; milk and honey are under your tongue.1 The fragrance of your garments is like that of Lebanon.212
You are a garden3 locked up, my sister, my bride;4 you are a spring enclosed, a sealed fountain.513
Your plants are an orchard of pomegranates6 with choice fruits, with henna7 and nard,
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nard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon,8 with every kind of incense tree, with myrrh9 and aloes10 and all the finest spices.1115
You area a garden12 fountain,13 a well of flowing water streaming down from Lebanon.
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