Tota Pulchra es, amica mea
Tota pulchra es, amica mea, et macula non est in te;
favus distillans labia tua; mel et lac sub lingua tua;
odor unguentorum tuorum super omnia aromata:
jam enim hiems transiit, imber abiit et recessit.
Flores apparuerunt; vineae florentes odorem dederunt,
et vox turturis audita est in terra nostra:
surge, propera, amica mea: veni de Libano, veni, coronaberis.
You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you.
Your lips distil nectar; honey and milk are under your tongue;
the scent of your perfumes is beyond all spices.
For now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.
The flowers have appeared; the flowering vines have given forth their fragrance,
and the voice of the turtle-dove is heard in our land.
Arise, my love, my fair one; come from Lebanon, come, you will be crowned.
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