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Daughters of Jerusalem,
you must swear to me by the gazelles,
or by the does of the field,
that you will not arouse or awaken love
    until it so desires.

Let Us Go to the Country

The Woman

Listen! It’s my lover!
Look! Here he comes,
leaping on the mountains,
bounding over the hills.
My lover is like a gazelle,
or like a young buck.
Look! There he is, standing behind our wall,
gazing through the windows,
peeking through the lattice.

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