Song of Songs 2:15
Seize ye for us foxes, Little foxes -- destroyers of vineyards, Even our sweet-smelling vineyards.
Seize ye for us foxes, Little foxes -- destroyers of vineyards, Even our sweet-smelling vineyards.
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16 My beloved `is' mine, and I `am' his, Who is delighting among the lilies,
17 Till the day doth break forth, And the shadows have fled away, Turn, be like, my beloved, To a roe, or to a young one of the harts, On the mountains of separation!
12 The flowers have appeared in the earth, The time of the singing hath come, And the voice of the turtle was heard in our land,
13 The fig-tree hath ripened her green figs, And the sweet-smelling vines have given forth fragrance, Rise, come, my friend, my fair one, yea, come away.
14 My dove, in clefts of the rock, In a secret place of the ascent, Cause me to see thine appearance, Cause me to hear thy voice, For thy voice `is' sweet, and thy appearance comely.
8 I said, `Let me go up on the palm, Let me lay hold on its boughs, Yea, let thy breasts be, I pray thee, as clusters of the vine, And the fragrance of thy face as citrons,
9 And thy palate as the good wine --' Flowing to my beloved in uprightness, Strengthening the lips of the aged!
10 I `am' my beloved's, and on me `is' his desire.
11 Come, my beloved, we go forth to the field,
12 We lodge in the villages, we go early to the vineyards, We see if the vine hath flourished, The sweet smelling-flower hath opened. The pomegranates have blossomed, There do I give to thee my loves;
1 Let me sing, I pray you, for my beloved, A song of my beloved as to his vineyard: My beloved hath a vineyard in a fruitful hill,
2 And he fenceth it, and casteth out its stones, And planteth it `with' a choice vine, And buildeth a tower in its midst, And also a wine press hath hewn out in it, And he waiteth for the yielding of grapes, And it yieldeth bad ones!
14 A cluster of cypress `is' my beloved to me, In the vineyards of En-Gedi!
15 Lo, thou `art' fair, my friend, Lo, thou `art' fair, thine eyes `are' doves!
13 The companions are attending to thy voice, Cause me to hear. Flee, my beloved, and be like to a roe,
14 Or to a young one of the harts on mountains of spices!
7 I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes or by the hinds of the field, Stir not up nor wake the love till she please!
8 The voice of my beloved! lo, this -- he is coming, Leaping on the mountains, skipping on the hills.
9 My beloved `is' like to a roe, Or to a young one of the harts. Lo, this -- he is standing behind our wall, Looking from the windows, Blooming from the lattice.
10 My beloved hath answered and said to me, `Rise up, my friend, my fair one, and come away,
15 A fount of gardens, a well of living waters, And flowings from Lebanon!
16 Awake, O north wind, and come, O south, Cause my garden to breathe forth, its spices let flow, Let my beloved come to his garden, And eat its pleasant fruits!
12 A garden shut up `is' my sister-spouse, A spring shut up -- a fountain sealed.
1 I have come in to my garden, my sister-spouse, I have plucked my myrrh with my spice, I have eaten my comb with my honey, I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, O friends, drink, Yea, drink abundantly, O beloved ones!
2 I am sleeping, but my heart waketh: The sound of my beloved knocking! `Open to me, my sister, my friend, My dove, my perfect one, For my head is filled `with' dew, My locks `with' drops of the night.'
8 Come from Lebanon, come thou in. Look from the top of Amana, From the top of Shenir and Hermon, From the habitations of lions, From the mountains of leopards.
9 Thou hast emboldened me, my sister-spouse, Emboldened me with one of thine eyes, With one chain of thy neck.
18 For the mount of Zion -- that is desolate, Foxes have gone up on it.
18 Come, we are filled `with' loves till the morning, We delight ourselves in loves.
5 I have adjured you, daughters of Jerusalem, By the roes or by the hinds of the field, Stir not up nor wake the love till she please!
1 Whither hath thy beloved gone, O fair among women? Whither hath thy beloved turned, And we seek him with thee?
2 My beloved went down to his garden, To the beds of the spice, To delight himself in the gardens, and to gather lilies.
3 I `am' my beloved's, and my beloved `is' mine, Who is delighting himself among the lilies.
12 Why hast Thou broken down its hedges, And all passing by the way have plucked it?
13 A boar out of the forest doth waste it, And a wild beast of the fields consumeth it.
2 Let him kiss me with kisses of his mouth, For better `are' thy loves than wine.
19 A hind of loves, and a roe of grace! Let her loves satisfy thee at all times, In her love magnify thyself continually.
7 Declare to me, thou whom my soul hath loved, Where thou delightest, Where thou liest down at noon, For why am I as one veiled, By the ranks of thy companions?
8 If thou knowest not, O fair among women, Get thee forth by the traces of the flock, And feed thy kids by the shepherds' dwellings!
3 As a citron among trees of the forest, So `is' my beloved among the sons, In his shade I delighted, and sat down, And his fruit `is' sweet to my palate.
8 We have a little sister, and breasts she hath not, What do we do for our sister, In the day that it is told of her?
5 For before harvest, when the flower is perfect, And the blossom is producing unripe fruit, Then hath `one' cut the sprigs with pruning hooks, And the branches he hath turned aside, cut down.
5 Thy two breasts `are' as two fawns, Twins of a roe, that are feeding among lilies.
6 Till the day doth break forth, And the shadows have fled away, I will get me unto the mountain of myrrh, And unto the hill of frankincense.
5 Sustain me with grape-cakes, Support me with citrons, for I `am' sick with love.
4 Draw me: after thee we run, The king hath brought me into his inner chambers, We do joy and rejoice in thee, We mention thy loves more than wine, Uprightly they have loved thee!
4 As foxes in the wastes, Thy prophets, O Israel, have been.
5 And now, pray, let me cause you to know, That which I am doing to my vineyard, To turn aside its hedge, And it hath been for consumption, To break down its wall, And it hath been for a treading-place.
5 Turn round thine eyes from before me, Because they have made me proud. Thy hair `is' as a row of the goats, That have shone from Gilead,
1 Lo, thou `art' fair, my friend, lo, thou `art' fair, Thine eyes `are' doves behind thy veil, Thy hair as a row of the goats That have shone from mount Gilead,