My dove, my (A)perfect one,
Is the only one,
The only one of her mother,
The favorite of the one who bore her.
The daughters saw her
And called her blessed,
The queens and the concubines,
And they praised her.

10 Who is she who looks forth as the morning,
Fair as the moon,
Clear as the sun,
(B)Awesome as an army with banners?

The Shulamite

11 I went down to the garden of nuts
To see the verdure of the valley,
(C)To see whether the vine had budded
And the pomegranates had bloomed.

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