And the roof of thy mouth like the best wine For my beloved, that goeth down sweetly, Causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak. I am my beloved's, And his desire is toward me. Come, my beloved, Let us go forth into the field; Let us lodge in the villages. Let us get up early to the vineyards; Let us see if the vine flourish, Whether the tender grape appear, And the pomegranates bud forth: There will I give thee my loves. The mandrakes give a smell, And at our gates are all manner of pleasant fruits, New and old, Which I have laid up for thee, O my beloved.
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