the fig tree puts forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, My love, My beautiful one, and come away.

But a little while after I passed from them, I found Him whom my soul loves. I held Him and would not let Him go, until I had brought Him into my mother's house, and into the room of her who conceived me.

But My dove, My undefiled is one alone. She is the only one of her mother. She is the choice of her who bore her. The daughters saw her and blessed her; the queens and the concubines saw her, and they praised her.

Who is this coming up from the wilderness, leaning on her Beloved? I awakened you under the apple tree; there your mother travailed with you; there she travailed and bore you.

If she is a wall, we will build on her a palace of silver; and if she is a door, we will enclose her with boards of cedar.