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(A)I belong to my lover, and my lover belongs to me;
    he feeds among the lilies.

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One alone[a] is my dove, my perfect one,
    her mother’s special one,
    favorite of the one who bore her.
Daughters see her and call her happy,
    queens and concubines, and they praise her:

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Footnotes

  1. 6:9 One alone: the incomparability of the woman is a favorite motif in love poetry.