Song of Solomon 2:14-17

O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, In the covert of the steep place, 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 vineyards; For our vineyards are in blossom. My beloved is mine, and I am his: He feedeth his flock among the lilies. Until the day be cool, and the shadows flee away, Turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe or a young hart Upon the mountains of Bether.