Højsangen 5
1 Jeg kommer i min Have, min Søster, min Brud, jeg plukker min Myrra og Balsam, jeg spiser min Honning og Saft, jeg drikker min Vin og Mælk. Venner, spis og drik og berus jer i Kærlighed!
I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride. I have gathered my myrrh with my spice. I have eaten my honeycomb with my honey. I have drunk my wine with my milk. Eat, O friends. Drink, yea. Drink abundantly, O beloved.
2 Jeg sov, men mit Hjerte vaaged; tys, da banked min Ven: »Luk op for mig, o Søster, min Veninde, min Due, min rene, thi mit Hoved er fuldt af Dug, mine Lokker af Nattens Draaber.«
I was asleep, but my heart awoke. It is the voice of my beloved who knocks, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled. For my head is filled with dew, my locks with the drops of the night.
3 Jeg har taget min Kjortel af, skal jeg atter tage den paa? Jeg har tvættet mine Fødder, skal jeg atter snavse dem til?
I have put off my garment, how shall I put it on? I have washed my feet, how shall I defile them?
4 Gennem Gluggen rakte min Ven sin Haand, det brusede stærkt i mit Indre.
My beloved put in his hand by the hole of the door, and my heart was moved for him.
5 Jeg stod op og aabned for min Ven; mine Hænder drypped af Myrra, mine Fingre af flydende Myrra, da de rørte ved Laasens Haandtag.
I rose up to open to my beloved, and my hands drops with myrrh, and my fingers with liquid myrrh, upon the handles of the bolt.
6 Saa lukked jeg op for min Ven, men min Ven var gaaet sin Vej. Jeg var ude af mig selv ved hans Ord. Jeg søgte, men fandt ham ikke, kaldte, han svared mig ikke.
I opened to my beloved, but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone. My soul had failed me when he spoke. I sought him, but I could not find him. I called him, but he gave me no answer.
7 Vægterne, som færdes i Byen, traf mig, de slog og saared mig; Murens Vægtere rev Kappen af mig.
The watchmen who go about the city found me. They smote me, they wounded me. The keepers of the walls took away my mantle from me.
8 Jeg besværger eder, Jerusalems Døtre: Saafremt I finder min Ven, hvad skal I da sige til ham? At jeg er syg af Kærlighed!
I adjure you, O daughters of Jerusalem, if ye find my beloved, that ye tell him that I am sick from love.
9 »Hvad Fortrin har da din Ven, du fagreste blandt Kvinder? Hvad Fortrin har da din Ven, at du besværger os saa?«
What is thy beloved more than another beloved, O thou fairest among women? What is thy beloved more than another beloved, that thou do so adjure us?
10 Min Ven er hvid og rød, herlig blandt Titusinder,
My beloved is white and ruddy, the chief among ten thousand.
11 hans Hoved er det fineste Guld, hans Lokker er Ranker, sorte som Ravne,
His head is the most fine gold. His locks are bushy, black as a raven.
12 hans Øjne som Duer ved rindende Bække, badet i Mælk og siddende ved Strømme,
His eyes are like doves beside the water-brooks, washed with milk, fitly set.
13 hans Kinder som Balsambede, Skabe med Vellugt, hans Læber er Liljer, de drypper af flydende Myrra,
His cheeks are as a bed of spices, banks of sweet herbs. His lips are lilies, dropping liquid myrrh.
14 hans Hænder er Stænger af Guld, fyldt med Rubiner, hans Liv en Elfenbensplade, besat med Safirer,
His hands are rings of gold set with beryl. His body is ivory work overlaid with sapphires.
15 hans Ben er Søjler af Marmor Paa Sokler af Guld, hans Skikkelse som Libanon, herlig som Cedre,
His legs are pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold. His aspect is like Lebanon, excellent as the cedars.
16 hans Gane er Sødme, han er idel Ynde. Saadan er min elskede, saadan min Ven, Jerusalems Døtre.
His mouth is most sweet. Yea, he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.
