ش َفَتاكِ تَقطُرانِ شَهْداً، يا عَرُوسِي. وَتَحتَ لِسانِكِ عَسَلٌ وَحَلِيبٌ. شَذا ثِيابِكِ كَشَذا أرزِ لُبنانَ.
Thy lips, O my bride, drop as the honeycomb: Honey and milk are under thy tongue; And the smell of thy garments is like the smell of Lebanon.
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