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Your neck is like David’s tower built for an armory,
    on which a thousand shields hang,
    all the shields of the mighty men.
Your two breasts are like two fawns
    that are twins of a roe,
    which feed among the lilies.

Until the day is cool, and the shadows flee away,
    I will go to the mountain of myrrh,
    to the hill of frankincense.

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