9 What 'is' thy beloved above 'any' beloved, O fair among women? What 'is' thy beloved above 'any' beloved, That thus thou hast adjured us?
10 My beloved 'is' clear and ruddy, Conspicuous above a myriad!
11 His head 'is' pure gold -- fine gold, His locks flowing, dark as a raven,
12 His eyes as doves by streams of water, Washing in milk, sitting in fulness.
13 His cheeks as a bed of the spice, towers of perfumes, His lips 'are' lilies, dropping flowing myrrh,
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