the voice of my beloved, look there he comes leaping on the mountains, skipping on the hills;
I have compared my beloved to a gazelle or a young deer, the stag: there he stands behind our wall, looking through the windows, peering through the lattices;
turn my beloved, and said to me, arise, my love, my fair one and come away;
for look, the winter is past, and the rain is over, it is gone;
the flowers appear on the earth, the season of singing has come and the voice of the dove is heard in our land;
the fig tree ripens her green figs, and the vines blossom, give fragrance, arise, come, my love, my fair one, and come away;
o my dove, in the cleft of the rock, in the secret place of ascent, let me see your form, let me hear your voice; for your voice is sweet, and your form is lovely;
catch for us the foxes, the foxes, the little ones, who spoil the vineyards and our vineyard’s blossom;
my beloved is mine, and I am his: he feeds among the lilies;
until dawn of the day, and flee away the shadows, turn, be like yourself, my beloved, as a gazelle or a young deer, the stag on the mountains of Vater;
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