His left hand is under my head, And his right hand doth embrace me. I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes, or by the hinds of the field, That ye stir not up, nor awake my love, Until he please. The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh, Leaping upon the mountains, Skipping upon the hills. My beloved is like a roe or a young hart: Behold, he standeth behind our wall; He looketh in at the windows; He glanceth through the lattice. My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
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