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.
16 My beloved is mine, and I am his; He feedeth [his flock] among the lilies,
17 Until the day dawn, and the shadows flee away. Turn, my beloved: be thou like a gazelle or a young hart, Upon the mountains of Bether.
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