11 For behold, the winter is past, The rain is over, it is gone:
12 The flowers appear on the earth; The time of singing is come, And the voice of the turtle-dove is heard in our land;
13 The fig-tree melloweth her winter figs, And the vines in bloom give forth [their] fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away!
14 My dove, in the clefts of the rock, In the covert of the precipice, Let me see thy countenance, let me hear thy voice; For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.
15 Take us the foxes, The little foxes, that spoil the vineyards; For our vineyards are in bloom.