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 am come into my garden, my sister, [my] spouse; 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, beloved ones!
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 slept, but my heart was awake. The voice of my beloved! he knocketh: Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, mine 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 tunic, how should I put it on? I have washed my feet, how should I pollute 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 bowels yearned 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 dropped with myrrh, And my fingers with liquid myrrh, Upon the handles of the lock.
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I opened to my beloved; But my beloved had withdrawn himself; he was gone: My soul went forth when he spoke. I sought him, but I found him not; 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 that went about the city found me; They smote me, they wounded me; The keepers of the walls took away my veil 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 charge you, daughters of Jerusalem, If ye find my beloved, ...What will ye tell him? — That I am sick of 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, Thou fairest among women? What is thy beloved more than [another] beloved, That thou dost so charge us?
10 Min Ven er hvid og rød, herlig blandt Titusinder,
My beloved is white and ruddy, The chiefest among ten thousand.
11 hans Hoved er det fineste Guld, hans Lokker er Ranker, sorte som Ravne,
His head is [as] the finest gold; His locks are flowing, black as the raven;
12 hans Øjne som Duer ved rindende Bække, badet i Mælk og siddende ved Strømme,
His eyes are like doves by 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, raised beds of sweet plants; His lips lilies, dropping liquid myrrh.
14 hans Hænder er Stænger af Guld, fyldt med Rubiner, hans Liv en Elfenbensplade, besat med Safirer,
His hands gold rings, set with the chrysolite; His belly is bright ivory, overlaid [with] sapphires;
15 hans Ben er Søjler af Marmor Paa Sokler af Guld, hans Skikkelse som Libanon, herlig som Cedre,
His legs, pillars of marble, set upon bases of fine gold: His bearing as 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, yea, this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.
