The fig-tree puts out her green fruit and the vines with their young fruit give a good smell. Get up from your bed, my beautiful one, and come away.

I was but a little way from them, when I came face to face with him who is the love of my soul. I took him by the hands, and did not let him go, till I had taken him into my mother's house, and into the room of her who gave me birth.

My dove, my very beautiful one, is but one; she is the only one of her mother, she is the dearest one of her who gave her birth. The daughters saw her, and gave her a blessing; yes, the queens and the servant-wives, and they gave her praises.

Who is this, who comes up from the waste places, resting on her loved one? It was I who made you awake under the apple-tree, where your mother gave you birth; there she was in pain at your birth.

If she is a wall, we will make on her a strong base of silver; and if she is a door, we will let her be shut up with cedar-wood.