While the king sat at his table, My spikenard sent forth its fragrance. My beloved is unto me as a bundle of myrrh, That lieth betwixt my breasts. My beloved is unto me as a cluster of henna-flowers In the vineyards of En-gedi. Behold, thou art fair, my love; Behold thou art fair; Thine eyes are as doves. Behold, thou art fair, my beloved, yea, pleasant: Also our couch is green. The beams of our house are cedars, And our rafters are firs.
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