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My dove, mine undefiled, is but one; She is the only one of her mother, She is the choice one of her that bore her. The daughters saw her, and they called her blessed; The queens and the concubines, and they praised her.

10 Who is she that looketh forth as the dawn, Fair as the moon, clear as the sun, Terrible as troops with banners?

11 I went down into the garden of nuts, To see the verdure of the valley, To see whether the vine budded, Whether the pomegranates blossomed.

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