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The Man

How fair you are, my love!
    How very fair!
    Your eyes are doves behind your veil.
Your hair is like a flock of goats,
    streaming down the hills of Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of shorn ewes
    that have come up from the washing,
all of which bear twins,
    and not one among them has lost its young.
Your lips are like a scarlet thread,
    and your mouth is lovely.
Your cheeks are halves of a pomegranate
    behind your veil.

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