A nd the fading flower of its glorious beauty, Which is at the head of the fertile valley, Will be like the first-ripe fig prior to summer, Which one sees, And as soon as it is in his hand, He swallows it.
And the fading flower of the beauty of his glory That on the head of the fat valley, Hath been as its first-fruit before summer, That its beholder seeth, While it yet in his hand he swalloweth it.
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