Højsangen 6
1 Hvor er din Ven gaaet hen, du fagreste blandt Kvinder? Hvor har din Ven vendt sig hen? Vi vil søge ham med dig.
Whither is thy beloved gone, O thou most beautiful among women? whither is thy beloved turned aside, and we will seek him with thee?
2 Min Ven gik ned i sin Have, til Balsambedene, for at vogte sin Hjord i Haverne og sanke Liljer.
My beloved is gone down into his garden, to the bed of aromatical spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather lilies.
3 Jeg er min Vens, og min Ven er min, han, som vogter blandt Liljer.
I to my beloved, and my beloved to me, who feedeth among the lilies.
4 Du er fager, min Veninde, som Tirza, yndig som Jerusalem, frygtelig som Hære under Banner.
Thou art beautiful, O my love, sweet and comely as Jerusalem: terrible as an army set in array.
5 Vend dine Øjne fra mig, de forvirrer mig saa! Dit Haar er som en Gedeflok, bølgende ned fra Gilead,
Turn away thy eyes from me, for they have made me flee away. Thy hair is as a flock of goats, that appear from Galaad.
6 dine Tænder som en Faareflok, der kommer fra Bad, som alle har Tvillinger, intet er uden Lam;
Thy teeth as a flock of sheep, which come up from the washing, all with twins, and there is none barren among them.
7 din Tinding er et bristet Granatæble bag ved dit Slør.
Thy cheeks are as the bark of a pomegranate, beside what is hidden within thee.
8 Dronningernes Tal er tresindstyve, Medhustruernes firsindstyve, paa Terner er der ej Tal.
There are threescore queens, and fourscore concubines, and young maidens without number.
9 Men een er hun, min Due, min rene, hun, sin Moders eneste, hun, sin Moders Kælebarn. Blev hun set af Piger, fik hun Pris, af Dronninger og Medhustruer Hyldest.
One is my dove, my perfect one is but one, she is the only one of her mother, the chosen of her that bore her. The daughters saw her, and declared her most blessed: the queens and concubines, and they praised her.
10 Hvo er hun, der titter frem som Morgenrøden, fager som Maanen, skær som Solen, frygtelig som Hære under Banner?
Who is she that cometh forth as the morning rising, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, terrible as an army set in array?
11 Jeg gik ned i Nøddehaven for at se, hvor det grønnes i Dale, for at se, om Vintræet skød, om Granattræet nu stod i Blomst.
I went down into the garden of nuts, to see the fruits of the valleys, and to look if the vineyard had flourished, and the pomegranates budded.
12 Før jeg vidste af det, satte min Sjæl mig paa mit ædle Folks Vogne.
I knew not: my soul troubled me for the chariots of Aminadab.
13 Vend dig, vend dig, Sulamit, vend dig, vend dig, saa vi kan se dig! »Hvad vil I se paa Sulamit, mens Sværddansen trædes?«
Return, return, O Sulamitess: return, return that we may behold thee.
