13 The fig-tree hath ripened her green figs, And the sweet-smelling vines have given forth fragrance, Rise, come, my friend, my fair one, yea, come away.
14 My dove, in clefts of the rock, In a secret place of the ascent, Cause me to see thine appearance, Cause me to hear thy voice, For thy voice 'is' sweet, and thy appearance comely.
15 Seize ye for us foxes, Little foxes -- destroyers of vineyards, Even our sweet-smelling vineyards.
16 My beloved 'is' mine, and I 'am' his, Who is delighting among the lilies,
17 Till the day doth break forth, And the shadows have fled away, Turn, be like, my beloved, To a roe, or to a young one of the harts, On the mountains of separation!
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