ACV(i)
13 The fig tree ripens her green figs, and the vines are in blossom. They give forth their fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
14 O my dove, who are 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.