1
Lo, thou <FI>art<Fi> fair, my friend, lo, thou <FI>art<Fi> fair, Thine eyes <FI>are<Fi> doves behind thy veil, Thy hair as a row of the goats That have shone from mount Gilead,
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Awake, O north wind, and come, O south, Cause my garden to breathe forth, its spices let flow, Let my beloved come to his garden, And eat its pleasant fruits!