My love calls to me: Arise, my darling. Come away, my beautiful one. For now the winter is past; the rain has ended and gone away. The blossoms appear in the countryside. The time of singing has come, and the turtledove’s cooing is heard in our land. The fig tree ripens its figs; the blossoming vines give off their fragrance. Arise, my darling. Come away, my beautiful one. My dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the crevices of the cliff, let me see your face, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your face is lovely. Catch the foxes for us — the little foxes that ruin the vineyards — for our vineyards are in bloom. My love is mine and I am his; he feeds among the lilies. Until the day breaks and the shadows flee, turn around, my love, and be like a gazelle or a young stag on the divided mountains.
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