13 The fig tree puts forth her green figs,
And the vines with the tender grapes
Give a good smell.
Rise up, my love, my fair one,
And come away!

14 “O my ^adove, in the clefts of the rock,
In the secret places of the cliff,
Let me see your¹ face,
^bLet me hear your voice;
For your voice is sweet,
And your face is lovely.” ‡

16 ^aMy beloved is mine, and I am his.
He feeds his flock among the lilies. ‡

17 ^aUntil the day breaks
And the shadows flee away,
Turn, my beloved,
And be ^blike a gazelle
Or a young stag
Upon the mountains of¹ Bether. ‡