O my dove, you are in the holes of the mountain sides, in the cracks of the high hills; let me see your face, let your voice come to my ears; for sweet is your voice, and your face is fair.

I said, Let me go up the palm-tree, and let me take its branches in my hands: your breasts will be as the fruit of the vine, and the smell of your breath like apples;

Come, my loved one, let us go out into the field; let us take rest among the cypress-trees.

Let us go out early to the vine-gardens; let us see if the vine is in bud, if it has put out its young fruit, and the pomegranate is in flower. There I will give you my love.