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O my dove, [that art] in the clefts of the rock, in the secret [places] of the stairs, let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; for sweet [is] thy voice, and thy countenance [is] comely (2:14) Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines: for our vines [have] tender grapes (2:15) My beloved [is] mine, and I [am] his: he feedeth among the lilies (2:16) Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether
(2:17)
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