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.
til þe dai sprynge, and schadewis be bowid doun. My derlyng, turne thou ayen; be thou lijk a capret, and a calf of hertis, on þe hillis of Betel.