11For, see, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
12The flowers are come on the earth; the time of cutting the vines is come, and the voice of the dove is sounding in our land;
13The fig-tree puts out her green fruit and the vines with their young fruit give a good smell. Get up from your bed, my beautiful one, and come away.
14O my dove, you are in the holes of the mountain sides, in the cracks of the high hills; let me see your face, let your voice come to my ears; for sweet is your voice, and your face is fair.
15Take for us the foxes, the little foxes, which do damage to the vines; our vines have young grapes.
16My loved one is mine, and I am his: he takes his food among the flowers.
17Till the evening comes, and the sky slowly becomes dark, come, my loved one, and be like a roe on the mountains of Bether.
