The voice of the dove calls,

It says: “The earth is bright.”

What have I to do outside?

Stop, thou birdling! You chide me!

I have found my brother in his bed,

My heart is glad beyond all measure.

We each say:

“I will not tear myself away.”

My hand is in his hand.

I wander together with him

To every beautiful place.

He makes me the first of maidens,

Nor does he grieve my heart.

From a beautiful collection of love poetry c. 2000 – 1100 B.C.E. from Ancient History Sourcebook.

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