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I rose up to open to my beloved, and my hands dripped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling myrrh, upon the handles of the lock.

I opened to my beloved, but my beloved had withdrawn himself and was gone. My soul failed when he spoke; I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.

The watchmen that went about the city found me. They smote me, they wounded me; the keepers of the walls took away my veil from me.

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