The voice of my beloved! Look! Here {he} comes leaping upon the mountains, bounding over the hills!

The fig tree puts forth her figs, and the vines [are in] blossom; they give fragrance. {Arise}, my beloved! {Come, my beauty}!"

My dove, {she is the one}; my perfect, {she is the only one}; she [is] {the favorite of} her mother who bore her. Maidens see her and consider her fortunate; queens and concubines praise her:

Who [is] this coming up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved? Under the apple tree I awakened you; there your mother {conceived you}; there she who was in labor gave birth to you.

If she [is] a wall, {we will adorn her with a turret of silver}; but if she [is] a door, we will barricade her with boards of cedar.