The voice of my beloved,
Leaping upon the mountains,
skipping upon the hills.
My beloved is like a roe or a young hart:
Behold, he standeth behind out wall,
He looketh in at the windows,
He showeth himself through the lattice.
My beloved spoke, and said upto me,
Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo the winter is past,
The rain is over and gone:
The flowers appear on the earth;
The time of the singing of birds is come,
And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;
The fig tree ripeneth her green figs,
And the vines are in blossom,
They give forth their fragrances.
Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock,
In the covert of the steep place,
Let me see thy countenance, lets me hear thy voice;
For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely.