11 For, see, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
12 The 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;
13 The 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.
14 O 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.
15 Take for us the foxes, the little foxes, which do damage to the vines; our vines have young grapes.