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Your cheeks under your veil
    are like slices of pomegranate.

There might be 60 queens
    and 80 slave women,
    and young women too many to count,
but there is only one woman for me,
    my dove, my perfect one.
She is the favorite of her mother,
    her mother’s favorite child.
The young women see her and praise her.
    Even the queens and slave women praise her.

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Your temples behind your veil(A)
    are like the halves of a pomegranate.(B)
Sixty queens(C) there may be,
    and eighty concubines,(D)
    and virgins beyond number;
but my dove,(E) my perfect one,(F) is unique,
    the only daughter of her mother,
    the favorite of the one who bore her.(G)
The young women saw her and called her blessed;
    the queens and concubines praised her.

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