¹⁴ O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the stairs, 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 vines: for our vines have tender grapes.

¹⁶ My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.

¹⁷ Until the day break, and the shadows flee away, turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.