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“I sleep, but my heart waketh; it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, ‘Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled; for my head is filled with dew and my locks with the drops of the night.’

I have put off my coat; how shall I put it on? I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?

My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door, and my heart was moved for him.

I rose up to open to my beloved, and my hands dripped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.

I opened to my beloved, but my beloved had withdrawn himself and was gone. My soul failed when he spoke; I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.

The watchmen that went about the city found me. They smote me, they wounded me; the keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.

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