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, 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 sleep, but my heart wakes: it is the voice of my beloved that knocks, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew, and 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 coat; 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 bowels were 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 dropped with myrrh, and my fingers with sweet smelling 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I opened to my beloved; but my beloved had withdrawn himself, and was gone: my soul failed when he spoke: I sought him, but I could not find him; I called him, but he gave me no answer.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 that went about the city found me, they stroke 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, O daughters of Jerusalem, if all of you find my beloved, that all of you 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 your beloved more than another beloved, O you fairest among women? what is your beloved more than another beloved, that you do so charge us?
10 Min Ven er hvid og rød, herlig blandt Titusinder,
My beloved is white and rosy, the chiefest among ten thousand.
11 hans Hoved er det fineste Guld, hans Lokker er Ranker, sorte som Ravne,
His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black as a raven.
12 hans Øjne som Duer ved rindende Bække, badet i Mælk og siddende ved Strømme,
His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and 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, as sweet flowers: his lips like lilies, dropping sweet smelling myrrh.
14 hans Hænder er Stænger af Guld, fyldt med Rubiner, hans Liv en Elfenbensplade, besat med Safirer,
His hands are as gold rings set with the beryl: his belly is as 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 are as pillars of marble, set upon sockets of fine gold: his countenance is 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, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem.
