¹² The flowers have appeared in our land, the time of pruning is come: the voice of the turtle is heard in our land:

¹³ The fig tree hath put forth her green figs: the vines in flower yield their sweet smell. Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come:

¹⁴ My dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hollow places of the wall, shew me thy face, let thy voice sound in my ears: for thy voice is sweet, and thy face comely.