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6 "Whither hath gone thy beloved,
O fairest of women?
Whiter hath turned thy beloved,
That with thee we may seek him?"
2 "My love is gone down to his garden,
The terrace of spices,
To pasture his flock in his garden,
To pasture his flock in his garden
And gather the lilies.
3 My beloved is mine, I am his,
’Mong the lilies he pastures."
In Praise of the Bride
4 Thou art fair, my beloved, as Tirzah,
Lovely as Jerusalem,
Dread as an army with banners.
5 Away from me turn those eyes
That stir me so strangely,
That hair like a flock of goats
Streaming down from mount Gilead,
6 Those teeth like a flock of ewes,
Just come up from the washing,
Ranged in a double row,
Not one of them lacking;
7 Those temples like pieces of pomegranate
Seen through thy veil.
8 Three score queens had Solomon,
Concubines fourscore,
And maids without number.
9 But she, my dove, is but one,
She, my stainless, is one.
Alone and peerless is she
To the mother who bore her.
The daughters, at sight of her, praised her;
Concubines, queens, sang her praises.
10 Who is this that looks forth like the dawn,
Fair as the moon,
Clear as the sun,
And dread as an army with banners?
11 "I went down to the garden of nuts,
To see the green shoots in the valley,
To see if the vines were in bud,
Or the pomegranates yet were in blossom.
12 Or ever I knew, on his chariot
The prince of my people had set me."
13 Turn thee, turn, maid of Shulem,
Turn thee, turn, that we see thee.
But what would ye see in the Shulammite?
(We would see her dance) the war-dance.
In Praise of the Bride as she dances the Sword-Dance