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.
16 My loved one is mine, and I am his: he takes his food among the flowers.
17 Till the evening comes, and the sky slowly becomes dark, come, my loved one, and be like a roe on the mountains of Bether.