Oh, that you were like my brother, Who nursed at my mother’s breasts! If I should find you outside, I would kiss you; I would not be despised. I would lead you and bring you Into the house of my mother, She who used to instruct me. I would cause you to drink of spiced wine, Of the juice of my pomegranate. His left hand is under my head, And his right hand embraces me. I charge you, O daughters of Jerusalem, Do not stir up nor awaken love Until it pleases.
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