Song of Solomon 2:7-17

I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes, and by the hinds of the field, That ye stir not up, nor awake my love, Till he please. The voice of my beloved! Behold, he cometh Leaping upon the mountains, Skipping upon the hills. My beloved is like a roe Or a young hart: Behold, he standeth Behind our wall, He looketh forth at the windows, Shewing himself through the lattice. My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, And come away. For, lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle Is heard in our land; The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, And the vines with the tender grape Give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away. 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 comely. Take us the foxes, The little foxes, That spoil the vines: For our vines have tender grapes. My beloved is mine, and I am his: He feedeth among the lilies. Until the day break, And the shadows flee away, Turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart Upon the mountains of Bether.