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O woods and thickets planted by the hand of my Beloved! |
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O green meadow, coated, bright, with flowers, tell me, has he passed through you? |
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Pouring out a thousand graces, he passed through these groves in haste; |
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and having looked at them, with his image alone, clothed them in beauty. (St. John of the Cross, Spiritual Canticle) |
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