Until the day break I will rest, And the shadows flee away from my heart. Turn, my beloved, wake me, And be thou like a roe, fleet of foot. Or a young hart, stealthy and silent. Upon the mountains of Bether, come and find me.
My beloved is mine, But how, I cannot tell. And I am his: What a glorious confession! He feedeth among the lilies, And He calls me to join him there.
Take us the foxes, they sneak in. The little foxes, they make trouble; That spoil the vines and ruin your garden. For our vines have your fruit, and Tender grapes.
O my dove, take wing and fly, That art in the clefts of the rock, hidden. In the secret places of the stairs, watching. Let me see thy countenance, I long to see you, Let me hear thy voice, it feeds me. For sweet is thy voice, it fills me, And thy countenance is comely.