Højsangen 7
1 Hvor skønne er dine Trin i Skoene, du ædelbaarne! Dine Hofters Runding er som Halsbaand, Kunstnerhaands Værk,
As the chorus of “Mahanaim.” How beautiful were your feet with sandals, O daughter of Nadib. The turnings of your sides [are] as ornaments, Work of the hands of a craftsman.
2 dit Skød som det runde Bæger, ej savne det Vin, dit Liv som en Hvededynge, hegnet af Liljer;
Your waist [is] a basin of roundness, It does not lack the mixture, Your body a heap of wheat, fenced with lilies,
3 dit Bryst som to Hjortekalve, Gazelletvillinger,
Your two breasts as two young ones, twins of a roe,
4 din Hals som Elfenbenstaarnet, dine Øjne som Hesjbons Damme ved Bat-Rabbims Port, din Næse som Libanons Taarn, der ser mod Damaskus,
Your neck as a tower of the ivory, Your eyes pools in Heshbon, near the Gate of Bath-Rabbim, Your face as a tower of Lebanon looking to Damascus,
5 Hovedet paa dig som Karmel, dit Hoveds Lokker som Purpur; en Konge er fanget i Garnet.
Your head on you as Carmel, And the locks of your head as purple, The king is bound with the flowings!
6 Hvor er du fager og yndig, du elskede, yndefulde!
How beautiful and how pleasant you have been, O love, in delights.
7 Som Palmen, saa er din Vækst, dit Bryst som Klaser.
This your stature has been like to a palm, And your breasts to clusters.
8 Jeg tænker: Jeg vil op i Palmen, gribe fat i dens Stilke; dit Bryst skal være som Vinstokkens Klaser, din Næses Aande som Æbleduft,
I said, “Let me go up on the palm, Let me lay hold on its boughs,” Indeed, let your breasts now be as clusters of the vine, And the fragrance of your face as citrons,
9 din Gane som ædel Vin, der liflig flyder ind i min Mund, glider over mine Læber og Tænder.
And your palate as the good wine—Flowing to my beloved in uprightness, Strengthening the lips of the aged!
10 Jeg er min Vens, og til mig staar hans Attraa.
I [am] my beloved’s, and on me [is] his desire.
11 Kom min Ven, vi vil ud paa Landet, blive i Landsbyer Natten over;
Come, my beloved, we go forth to the field,
12 Vingaarde søger vi aarle, vi ser, om Vinstokken skyder, om Knopperne aabnes, Granattræet blomstrer. Der giver jeg dig min Kærlighed.
We lodge in the villages, we go early to the vineyards, We see if the vine has flourished, The sweet smelling-flower has opened. The pomegranates have blossomed, There I give to you my loves;
13 Kærlighedsæblerne dufter, for vor Dør er al Slags Frugt, ny og gammel tillige; til dig, min Ven, har jeg gemt dem.
The mandrakes have given fragrance, And at our openings all pleasant things, New, indeed, old, my beloved, I laid up for you!
