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 beautiful.
15 Hunt the foxes for us, the little foxes, that spoil the vines; for our vines are in blossom.
16 My beloved is mine, and I am his; he feeds among the lilies.
17 Until the day breaks and the shadows flee away, return, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.