م ا أجمَلَكِ يا حَبِيبَتِي! ما أجمَلَكِ! عَيناكِ كَيَمامَتَينِ خَلفَ نِقابِكِ. شَعْرُكِ كَقَطِيعِ ماعِزٍ يَنحَدِرُ مِنْ عَلَى جَبَلِ جِلْعادَ.
Lo, thou fair, my friend, lo, thou fair, Thine eyes doves behind thy veil, Thy hair as a row of the goats That have shone from mount Gilead,
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